


Now I See You

by CaptainTarthister



Series: Working Girl Brienne! [4]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Absofuckinglutely not, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Attempt at Humor, Awkward Boners, Brienne is a potty mouth, Brienne might be a tad insensitive in the beginning, Canon Disabled Character, Cunnilingus, F/M, Falling In Love, No drabbles from me, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Rough Sex, Smut, So is Jaime, major angst, not a drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2018-12-11 20:56:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 50,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11722398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainTarthister/pseuds/CaptainTarthister
Summary: Brienne Tarth is an ambitious, talented director about to make her first feature-length mainstream film. Jaime Lannister is a temperamental but critically-acclaimed actor returning in front of the camera after a devastating accident. But having to shoot a sensitive scene makes Jaime split for parts unknown. With the delay costing the production millions and her career about to go up in smoke, Brienne all but tears Westeros apart to find Jaime.Angst, some humor and sexy times ahead.





	1. One

 

Three days. For three days she had very little sleep and food to eat but enough coffee to replace her blood with it. The three most awful days of her life, she thought. Until now.

As soon as she laid eyes on Jaime Lannister, she was going to fuck him in places he didn’t know existed. Damn him to Seven Bloody Hells!

Blue eyes now dark like the sea in a violent storm glared through the lens of the goggles at the path ahead. She hoped to the Seven her assistant Podrick got his information right, else she might fuck him in places he wouldn’t like either. According to her watch, she had only been walking for less than an hour. The heavy  boots, snow and the fifteen layers of clothing she was wearing made the ordeal longer.

For the life of me, he couldn’t run off to the beach like a normal asshole? Brienne thought as she soldiered through the thick, snowy ground, keeping her eyes on the gray stone structure ahead. Maybe it was the thin air and exhaustion but she could see the teeniest flicker of light there. Jaime had to be there or she would start slashing random people at the throat.

The gods know she wasn’t a monster.

Nothing good ever came from working with Jaime Lannister, she had been warned. Her mentor, the award-winning director Davos Seaworth warned her. Her father, the man who knew nothing about film and its actors, warned her. Her godmother Catelyn. Catelyn’s daughter and her best friend Sansa. Even Tyrion, Jaime’s brother and agent, tried to talk her out of it. But Brienne didn’t acquire her reputation doing as she was told. The more a task was impossible, the more it shouldn’t be done, really, became all the more irresistible to her. Her cat, Lexi, even tried to stall her on her way to the first meeting by getting sick on the tablet where the script was stored. When that didn’t work, she thought to trip her lady master.

All her life, when people weren’t telling her no, they were trying to put her down. She had always been tall and broad, with rough, straw-blond hair, a big crooked nose, thick lips and a wide mouth. As if she hadn’t already been enough of a freak, the Seven through to pour her a boatload of freckles too.

Uglier than a sow. Hairier than a bear. Mannish. A freak. A beast. Her childhood was a thesaurus of awful and insulting names. She cried herself to sleep clutching her favorite stuffed lion Lann, imagining that he protected her from the meanies. Little did she realize that a miserable life would give her a steely spine later in life.

Film school was bad and the industry was a jungle of the wildest and most ravenous of beasts. If she wasn’t treated with condescension because of her gender, she was sexually harassed. There were some actors and even producers who refuse to work with a woman and she was an ugly woman. What was to be gained by working with her? They would sneer. Nothing to sweeten the deal. 

Brienne persevered. She joined contests where her work in short films got lauded, helping her build a steady and solid resume. By the time she won the jury prize in the Westeros Young Film Makers competition, in the short film category, she was already quite known. It helped her get more jobs, although in independent productions. She said yes to all. Again, she made her rounds in the indie film circuit, sprinkling her short films here and there as she gradually acquired the stamina, grit, talent and balls to shoot a full-length film. Her efforts paid off. _The Last Bear of Winter_ was in everyone’s lists of Best Films the year it was shown. She followed it up with another independent feature, _A Taste of the World_. Once it got critical acclaim and a bigger financial return. Now mainstream film actors and producers wanted to work with her. She still had to remind people to look past her little tits but she didn’t have to do it so much these days. But the battle for equality for women filmmakers was far from over and she intended to contribute to the cause.

Sure enough, when mainstream producers and actors started courting her, the offers were for romantic comedies and dramas. Brienne had no problem with those—romantic comedies were a guilty pleasure—but these were the genres almost exclusively offered to women. It wasn’t that she wanted to direct an epic war film someday—she would, if the story was good—but she wanted something gritty and dark. Something muddy.

Definitely _not_ snow.

Brienne groaned and cursed as she kicked at snow, never tearing her eyes away from the building that was getting bigger the closer she approached. An early blizzard had made flying impossible so the pilot—some ginger fucker named Tormund who seemed to be able to see through an entire closet’s worth of clothes she was wearing at the moment—dropped her off five miles away and helped her rent a snowmobile. He even offered to take her there on it and Brienne refused. She had GPS and there was absofuckinglutely no way she was going to put her arms or touch the leering pilot. No way!

Her bravado and relief at being away from that perv was only short-lived. About three miles out, the snowmobile stalled and no amount of kicking and yelling at the blasted thing could make it work. She could call Tormund but GPS indicated there was only a short distance left. She jogged seven miles four times a week. She could walk two miles easy.

She had pissed off one of the Seven to be freezing her ass off in this dreary, snow-choked Bear Fucking Island. Her teeth were chattering so loudly she feared that one more puff of air would knock them off completely. She couldn’t feel her face.

_Gods damn you, Jaime Lannister._

What made her current situation even more hateful was she had tried to introduce steps to avoid it. She offered him a body double! Shoot the scene in a way that it showed some random guy’s nude body then cutting to his face. But no. Jaime Lannister had looked at her like he wanted to chop off her right hand as he declared that he was doing the full frontal scene. Full frontal with lots of continuous, lingering shots on his face, ass, dick and stump.

She had admired him at that point. Disabled actors were few and when actors played them, it was the magic of cinema and technology that removed their legs, hands, or intense immersion when portraying someone crippled from the neck-down. But Jaime Lannister didn’t always have one hand. A terrible car accident had crushed his right hand and sent him into self-exile for close to five years. When word got around that he was shopping for a role and one those was the _Kingslayer_ script, Brienne knew she had to fight to be its director and him the title role. The story had the grittiness and muddiness she was looking for. Jaime Lannister, whether without the severed limb or not, was the only actor in her mind for _Kingslayer_.

 So much for that. Continuous lingering shots on the stump, indeed. If it were up to Brienne, she would shoot the scene with a body double and then Jaime’s face later. But the producers were paying him serious gold precisely for the full frontal. With production stalled because Jaime suddenly got cold feet or lost his balls and Brienne pressured at all sides to haul his ass back into the studio or she was finished, she had no choice.

All those years of suffering, harassment, hard work, the tears. The relationships she could have had (not that there were many). Experiences. Another life. All gone because some diva actor had heartlessly changed his mind and thought to kill her dreams as a bonus.

By the time Brienne swept past several low-hanging branches a few feet away from the modern gray stone and wood and structure, she was panting and her sweat was frozen. Her eyes narrowed at the pillar of white smoke exiting the chimney. She was a nice person. She really was. But knowing that Jaime was cozied up next to warm fire with hot chocolate while she was slaving through the snow and losing feeling limb by limb was bringing a fresh surge to her irritation. She hauled herself to the front door and rammed her gloved fist repeatedly on it.

 _“Jaime Lannister!”_ She yelled. “Open the fucking door!”

She kicked the door.

“Brienne?” She heard Jaime say from inside. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

_“Open the door.”_

“Alright, alright. Seven Hells, how’d you find me?”

“I can’t give an answer when my tongue freezes and falls off now, can I?”

“A tragedy.” He drawled.

Brienne raised her fist to knock again when the door opened.

There he was. Jaime Lannister. With his stupid, shampoo-commercial blond hair, emerald green eyes, and a face that could launch at least a thousand ships. His golden skin was flushed and warm. Everything about him was everything a sane, flesh-and-blood woman wanted in the middle of this snowy hell. A face lovingly carved by the Seven and no doubt bestowed with kisses. A cozy gray sweater. A really cozy gray sweater that you wanted to nuzzle and purr against.

Then he smiled. “Wench!”

Fuck those teeth that orthodontia promised but never delivered. Fuck those huge dimples!

A sane, flesh-and-blood woman would want him, alright. Even in his sweater and jeans, Jaime Lannister looked good enough to rival the treat of a hot chocolate crammed with marshmallows.

Brienne was a woman, she was flesh-and-blood.

But she was past sanity.

She answered his smile with a scowl and flew towards him, hands out to wring him by the neck.


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A confrontation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Strong explicit language ahead. Sensitive matters are discussed. As indicated in the tag, Brienne is quite insensitive. 
> 
> You've been warned.

Eastwatch was the fucking end of the world.

It suited Jaime just fine.

He raised his left arm, staring glumly at another landscape of endless white and thick snow from the window. He had been staying here for a couple of days but it felt like months. Maybe even years. His assistant Peck tried to convince him to get another accommodation more suited to his needs and tastes. But hotels were hunting grounds of the paparazzi bloodhounds. As well as private villas and even private islands. A long-range lens could still result in a photo of him. So he went to the least likely place in Westeros anyone would look for him. And if found, he wasn’t going to make things easy for them.

Eastwatch was perfect. Winter may just be in the horizon for the rest of Westeros but up north, it had begun. Paved roads got buried by snow faster than it can be plowed clear. Rooftops of houses and cars groaned and sighed under its weight. Anywhere from Point A to Point B in this godforsaken place got impassable by midday. While the modest, two-story rental had outdated furniture and could use a fresh coat of paint, it was cut off from the rest of Eastwatch. Jaime needed to put as much distance between him and the rest of the world.

It was a fucking mistake signing on to that movie. He’d bury Tyrion in the snow if his little brother were here, he thought, rubbing the soreness in his right stump brought by the cold.

He was right to remain holed up in Lannisport, the place where he was born and grew up in, after losing his hand in the accident. After the curious stares when he was in town and the fucking media that camped outside of the Casterly Rock Estate, people forgot about him. His family may have founded the place but he was just another Lannister now, no longer the famous, sought-after actor whose posters filled the walls of girls’ bedroom walls and inside their lockers. The anonymity was a comfort. The rest of the world moved on.

But Tyrion, fuck that little bastard, refused to believe Jaime had retired. He did understand his need to be away from the limelight but he kept his ear on the ground. First was this script by a kid named Samwell Tarly. Tyrion sent him a copy, urging him to read it. So he did. The writing was the best he had read in his entire career. The role guaranteed the actor a place in Weirwood History.

Jaime still thought to pass. He was no longer an actor.

Tyrion was a stubborn ass. Then he dropped a bombshell: there was a young woman in the shortlist of candidates for the director of the film. Brienne Tarth. Tyrion sent Jaime her movies. She was the youngest in the list but already successful, albeit in the indie circuit. He also shared Brienne’s one condition in taking the job, if given to her: she would work only with Jaime Lannister.

He watched her movies. The stories were different but the characters were raw and broken. Only a sensitive director who wasn’t afraid to get messy and bloody could tell the way these stories deserved to be told. He was astounded at the work and gave the Tarly script another look.

If his comeback was going to be with this woman, then Jaime would take the role.

As an actor, Jaime never believed in things that were larger-than-life. They didn’t exist. Movie magic made them so, as did egos with actors. Brienne Tarth was his first encounter with someone who really was larger-than-life.

Jaime was tall, standing a couple of inches over six feet. Brienne was taller, broader and was at least twenty pounds heavier. And for someone who turned heads, it was expected for her to be really worth the look. Instead, one grimaced and couldn’t stop looking at her. She didn’t look any better at each turn.

Her pale hair was a miserable bob that needed deep conditioning treatment. For starters. Her skin was pale and heavily-freckled, especially on the nose and the cheeks. Her nose, aside from being big and broad, was crooked, indicating it had been broken. Her mouth was wide and her lips too red and thick. Her scowl emphasized her homely features. She always looked flushed, as if she had been out in the sun too long.

But her eyes.

It was hard to pinpoint what shade of blue they were. Under a certain light, they shared the tranquil turquoise of the ocean. When her temper was provoked and they darkened, they were raw sapphires. As she struggled to bite back a smile, they were cornflower blue. He understood why she didn’t like to smile. She had big, crooked teeth.

Despite looking like the Seven created her to be an object of ridicule, Jaime had come to respect her. She was thirty-six years old, still quite young to have had the success she had, especially for a female film director. Actresses complained about harassment or worse in the casting couch. Women behind the camera got it worse—the sexism and other forms of abuse was so rampant and something the male-dominated film encouraged for both men and women to get ahead. Jaime knew little about Brienne but her work alone demanded recognition.

Sometimes, he would look at her between takes, noticing her eyes seemed hyacinth blue while going over some changes in the script with Sam. She had a definite vision for where the film should go, as indicated by her unwavering gaze when speaking but she ensured it was the story the Sam wanted to be told. Whether the younger man nodded along because she looked like she could split him in two in the blink of an eye or was pleased with the collaboration Jaime wasn’t sure about. Moments like this he saw why Brinne’s career had the trajectory it had: she knew what she wanted.

She worked fine with Sam and the others but she had and Jaime had come close to drawing swords several times. He felt she handled him with kid gloves. Didn’t she know he was nominated for the Izembaro three times? That his yearly guest work in any tv show had him nominated every year until his accident and had won seven times? The role called for a character ripped wide open with guts spilling and dripping on the floor and Brienne ordered him to keep it all in. “Think of it as your stitches loosening and you have to keep your intestines inside by hugging yourself.” she told him. “You’re at a fancy party, you have nice clothes and this happens and no one can know.”

Jaime was impatient to unleash himself, thus his agreement to do a full frontal scene, which would include lingering shots on his stump. He also dreaded the day. He spent an extra twenty minutes on the treadmill, replaced two meals with protein shakes and allowed himself on salad and salmon for lunch. He was always knocking on Brienne’s trailer wanting to discuss how she would shoot his stump, warning her he did not want it glorified or romanticized, nor should it show him as a broken man. When the week of the shoot arrived, he wondered if it was a mistake to have agreed to do the scene.

It was a mistake. Even Brienne told him before shooting began that he could use a body double but he refused, annoyed that she dared offer him that. After realizing he was a fucking idiot, he ran.

So here he was.

The coffeemaker coughed and sputtered. Turning away from the window, he saw steam coming from the top as the coffee began to pour into the pot. He closed the drapes and continued making himself a meal. He estimated that it was two in the afternoon already this was first meal.

Being here in the snow fucked with his body clock. The nights found him restless and he often fell asleep on the couch. Then he would wake up around this time, stiff and hardly rested.

Jaime took a box of sugary cereal mixed with dehydrated fruit of dubious nutritional value. He shook its contents into a bowl before pouring milk. He got himself coffee and sat down to eat.

He was slurping the last bits of soggy cereal from the bowl when he heard loud pounding. On and on it went, followed by an angry shout.

“Jaime Lannister! Open the fucking door!”

He got up and stood just outside of the kitchen. He watched the door shudder from the blows it was receiving. “Open the door!”

“Brienne?” He demanded, finally recognizing the voice. _“What the fuck are you doing here?”_

So open the door he did, chuckling under his breath. Despite the disagreements they’ve had, being with Brienne could be fun. He liked to rile her up by calling her wench. So when he opened the door and saw her standing there, looking uglier than the last time he saw her, he couldn’t help but smile.

Whoever told her to dress in white was an idiot. The only colors from her was the startling blue of her eyes against the red of her cheeks and swollen mouth. She looked like one of those snow monsters from legend but she was an Abominable Snow—

“Wench!”

Her blue eyes darkened, her lips curled in a snarl. Before Jaime realized what was going to happen, she was on to him, throwing her heavy body against his and tackling him to the floor. He shouted. She yelled. She kneed him in the ribs, fuck, _the balls--_

“Seven hells!” He shrieked, his arms rising to stop her from taking a swing at him. He tried turning but she was stronger was clearly used to trapping men with her hard thighs. There was also the matter that he was missing one hand—a truth that hit him harder than her fist connecting with his face.

That fucking _hurt._

So Jaime punched her in the jaw. Brienne howled and jerked back. Still seeing stars, he pressed his advantage by shoving her to the ground and pinning her under him. She yelled again, writhing and grunting against him and he had to push his knees onto hers, give her the full press of his body weight until they were eye to eye and sharing one breath. Her blue eyes was the color of an angry sea tinged with gray. She tried to hit him again. Jaime tossed her arms over her head and slammed his own over them. Brienne’s lips opened in a silent gasp but there was no fear or uncertainty in her.

Good. Because Jaime was going to give her the full force of a lion’s rage.

“What the fucking hell did you hit me for?” He yelled. Some of his spit landed in her eye and Brienne growled. She tried throwing him off again. He glared at her.

“Fuck you!”

“Fuck you!”

“Get off me!”

“You put yourself right here, wench. Now answer me!”

But Brienne hardly did as she was told, especially by him. She grunted and arched her body to him, intending to heave him off. Jaime threw her back down and was not sorry when she knocked the back of her head on the hard surface. As her face twisted in pain, he snarled, “What the fuck is wrong with you? Why’d you hit me?”

Brienne turned her furious eyes at him and growled, “You think what you did deserved kisses?”

“What the fuck did I do?”

“Oh, fucking hell! Really, Jaime!” The wench was fucking trying to turn and move her body under him. Seven Hells, it was like keeping an aurochs down.

 “You disappear for three days, hold up the production, cost _me_ my career---"

As she ranted, her hips pushed against him so he pushed back. It became a contest on who was stronger, who could give the ultimate death stare. Jaime’s right arm was beginning to hurt and struggle keeping her pinned by the elbows. Dark indigos flashed in this wordless fight of grunts and much squirming. Despite the negative temperature, Jaime was beginning to sweat. His pants felt tight. He was---

Two pairs of eyes widened in shock upon realizing what was going on south of their waists. Or rather, the immediate south from Jaime’s waist.

He was off her as if she burned. His legs were unsteady but he’d punch a hole in the wall first before letting her see that. Instead, he ran a quick hand through his blond hair, feeling some of the sweat on his scalp. A glance at Brienne showed her still flat on her back, arms over her head, legs spread. Her heavy winter clothes were still zipped tight but her pink cheeks and harsh pants could indicate she had been doing something that didn’t involve clothes at all. Incredibly, his cock hardened some more.

Jaime walked past her, his shoes thundering past her ear and it gave some satisfaction. He went to the sideboard, finding a bottle of brandy there. As he poured it into glasses, Brienne slowly sat up. She rubbed the back of her head and he remembered. Muttering under his breath about rude, violent wenches, he ducked in the fridge and got some ice cubes. He shook them from the tray, wondered for a second if maybe they should go in his pants to give him some relief then nixed it. Of course, his cock got hard because it had been years since he last had sex.

Sighing loudly, he struggled through the task with one hand at first before deciding to bang the tray on the counter until the ice popped out. He grabbed a dish cloth that wasn’t very clean and piled the cubes there. With his stump keeping the ice in place, his left hand wrapped it up.

Brienne was already on her feet when he returned to the living room. Her rough-looking hair was mussed. Hearing him approach had her turning to him. The flush on her face had receded to a soft, candy-pink.

Brilliant sapphires stared at him as he walked up to her and held out the makeshift ice pack. Her cheeks turned dark pink as she wordlessly took it from him. She grimaced upon pressing it to the spot but she pointed at him.

“You should get some for yourself. You have a shiner.”

“Thanks to you,” he snapped, but leaving it alone. He could feel it swelling but whether he iced it or not, the mark would still be there tomorrow. He took one of the glasses and gave it to her, unable to stop the flash of envy as she kept one hand with the ice pack on her head while the other took the it. He sat on a stool by the sideboard and took a sip of the brandy. Brienne finished her drink. He watched her put the glass on the table, pour the ice into it before taking off her heavy, tufted white jacket with the fleeced hood. She sat on the couch. It whined under her weight and she blushed in embarrassment, darting a quick look at Jaime to see if he noticed. He smirked. She deserved it for hitting him. But he’d die first before letting her know how his stomach churned at the growing purple bruise on her chin.

“What the hell are you doing here?” He demanded. “How did you find me?”

Brienne rolled her eyes. “You really think a one-handed man who looks like you will not stand out?”

Jaime flinched. It must have been noticeable because Brienne looked aghast at her own words, the color draining from her face. No stammering apology, though. She touched her chin gingerly. “I had help. From your brother. Don’t be mad at him. He told me I’d be an idiot to talk to you before he does.”

“That’s not the only thing you are,” he grumbled.

He reached for the brandy again and poured it in his glass.

“You might have only gotten a slap in the face had you holed up in a beach,” Brienne said. “Dorne, perhaps. I like Dorne.”

“And surround myself with the crazy Dornish who know only to fight and fuck and fuck and fight. Although the sight of you looking like a giant lobster might just be worth it. Wench barbecue.” Jaime took a swig and gave her a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes. “Something tells me you’d be juicy.”

Brienne went red. Jaime huffed, expecting to see smoke coming out of her ears. She looked like she wanted to give him a serious pounding this time.

She got up and went to him. With a glance aimed at burning him into cinders on the spot, she grabbed the brandy and brought it with her to the couch. She poured it into her glass then took a sip.

“Why?” She asked, looking at him.

“Why what?”

“Why did you run?”

Jaime pointed at the brandy. “Bring it here. Now.”

Brienne rolled her eyes. Instead she finished her glass then poured more. She made a big show of putting it back on the coffee table.

“If you want it, then get it. You only last a hand, not both legs.”

“You get off on it, don’t you? Being unpleasant? Like it’s not enough that you spied on me and barged in here without any invitation?”

“Unpleasant? I was shooting for mean.”

As Brienne sipped the brandy, Jaime said, “If you get yourself drunk, don’t you fucking get sick anywhere in the house.”

“Of course, I won’t. Cleaning with just one hand is sloppy work.”

“Fuck you.”

That got to her. She slammed her glass down the table and shot to her feet. Jaime stood up too.

“Fuck me?” Brienne asked in a low voice as she walked toward him slowly. “I suppose you’re right. You really fucked me disappearing the day before we’re supposed to shoot that last scene. The scene you’re contractually obligated to do. Do you know what your fucking selfishness did?”

“Actors are selfish, wench. We don’t give a fuck about other people.”

“That’s how you want to play it, then?”

“Play? You think this is some fucking game?”

“If it’s a game I don’t know what the prize is. You’re certainly not one.” Brienne stopped walking once she was right in front of him. With their close heights, they could look at each other right in the eye. Jaime even smelled a touch of snow from her skin and the sweat that had dried from their tussle.

“Why did you run?” She asked again, softer this time.

Jaime stared at her. The words were a jumble in his head. His throat tightened, knowing that even if he wanted to speak of it, only a whimper would come out. His right stump twitched, once again reminding him of what wasn’t there anymore. It had been nagging him since setting foot in this godsforsaken place. The cold was probably fucking with it.

“I didn’t run.”

“You just upped and left. _Jaime_.” She suddenly snapped her fingers before his eyes. “Do you know what you did? Do you have any idea what Tyrion and I had to do so the producers won’t fuck us in the ass?” The stormy eyes were back.

“So I left. I changed my mind. I don’t have the fucking right to do that now? Just because I’m a has-been missing a hand?”

“Don’t do this—”

But Jaime was on a roll now. He couldn’t stop even if he wanted to. “What the fuck do you want from me, Brienne? You could have had your pick of any actor. So whatever catastrophe’s that’s happened, wench—” he tapped his finger hard just below her throat—“it’s all on you. You wanted me for this fucking job. You fucking fought to put me here—”

“Fucking right I fought for you, you jackass. I fought for you because I believe in you!”

“Did someone put a gun to your cunt and ordered you to fight for me?”

“Oh, so this is my fault. I’m the reason we’re going to get fucked because I was the idiot who believed in you? Well, thank you for confirming it. People really do love to overpraise a famous name.” Brienne looked disgusted. “You were, you know. Once. But now? You’re just a one-handed fucker---”

 _“Careful,”_ Jaime seethed.

“Fine. Hit me. I have two fists. I can do it all day, Jaime. Come on. Hit me. Give me your best shot.”

“Get out of my house.”

Jaime’s shoulder smacked against her as he stormed to the door. Brienne followed him. He opened the door and she slammed it shut. He turned around. She was standing close enough for him to not just smell her but also count the freckles splashed across her nose. Twelve.

“Tell me why you ran.” She whispered.

“You should leave.”

“I’m not leaving, Jaime. I’m not going anywhere without you.” She suddenly flushed then turned on her heel. Confused, he watched her return to the couch and once again pour brandy into her glass.

He stared at her in distaste. “Wench, what’s this? You have a problem with drinking?”

She glared at him. “Of course not.”

“You’re going through that like it’s your last day on earth.”

“It’s cold, alright? And I’m. . .” she cleared her throat. “Look, Jaime. I don’t know if you want me to beg on my knees and I will definitely murder you if you tell me to do that. But if you don’t do the scene, we’re fucked, alright? Me. You. Tyrion. Even Sam. The producers didn’t want you.”

Well, Seven Hells. But he suspected that.

“They wanted someone else. I don’t know who but they were just going to fit him with a blue glove and cut out the hand in the edit. But I didn’t want you simply because you didn’t have. . .I mean, it’s not because of your condition at all. You could have two hands now and you’re still the one I want for the role. You’re the only one I’ll work with for this movie.”

It had been flattering, really, when Tyrion told him that. He still mattered enough to be remembered.

“The producers agreed as long as you did the scene. I told them you should have the option of a double but you know what they did. You signed it.” She finished her drink.  “But I don’t know if you saw the teeny lettering about the consequences if you don’t do it. The interest in the movie is fucking riding on that scene, Jaime.”

“I have to say, wench, it’s doing a lot for me knowing that the entire Westeros wants to see my cock.” He drawled.

“Fuck you, Jaime. Will you be serious?” She roared.

“You think I’m not?”

“You ran,” she pointed out. “You ran and left it up to us to fight and save you.”

“You also saved yourself.”

“You make it sound like a bad thing.”

“No. You should save yourself. But don’t expect me to be grateful for doing something I didn’t ask you to do.” Jaime grabbed the brandy and brought it back to the sideboard. “I don’t need saving. From anyone.”

Seven above, but she was looking at him now like he had just announced he was going to slice her head off because he had nothing better to do. Her lower lip trembled. The rapid blinking of her eyes promised tears. He couldn’t look away from her.

“I admired you, you know. Respected you. Past tense,” she clarified after a moment. “This movie was going to be my entry into mainstream film, yes. But more than that, it was a story I wanted to tell. It’s the kind of story I’ve always wanted to tell. I so believed in you to understand what _Kingslayer_ needed from an actor. For a while I thought you did. Then you ran away. And now you’re telling me everything I did was shit. You’re welcome, Jaime.”

She dug in her jacket pocket and pulled out a phone.

“You can try and try, wench. But cell reception here is very poor. It was one of the things I requested. I didn’t want to be found. Not for a while.”

Brienne sighed and tossed the phone to the table.

“Look, wallow in whatever existential bullshit you might be having, Jaime. Do it until you choke. I don’t care. But you made a promise. You signed a contract. Do you know how much the producers intend to sue you?”

“You think I care?”

“I care! Yes, I saved myself. My entire career is riding on this movie!” Brienne shook her head at him. “I don’t believe this. You won’t do the nude scene because. . .what? You don’t want the world to know you have a tiny cock?”

“I don’t see the fucking point of defending myself when you have all these assumptions.” Jaime mockingly applauded her. “Bravo, Professor Wench. Very impressive. Top-notch. You just earned the right to fuck yourself in the ass. You should love it. Big wench like yourself--”

“Stop!” Brienne shouted. “Shut up!”

Then she threw her glass at Jaime. Jaime managed to duck away in time and it smashed on the opposite wall. As he opened his mouth to cut her down again, she flew at him.

“All my life men like you have been sneering at me but you fucking insult me like that again, you fucking try tearing at me like you just did and you will lose another hand. How dare you try to bring me down to your level, you fucking little piece of shit. You ran because you were afraid, weren’t you? What’s the matter? You don’t want the world to see how ugly your stump is?” Without warning, she grabbed his right arm. “Is that what you want? For the world to think you’re ugly? Because it’s no picnic, Jaime. I barely survived. You won’t.”

Jaime snatched his arm back, furious.

“You lost a fucking hand!” Brienne yelled. “You’ve had one taste of the real world and you go hide in your fancy castle and run off to this fucking ice prison. Is that all it takes for the once-great Jaime Lannister to be destroyed?”

“All it takes? Really? Well let’s see you lose your hand.”

“You lost a hand. You didn’t lose yourself!”

“And you would know.”

“Every time you’re a hateful shit tells me how afraid you are.”

_Fuck her._

“You think people want to see me act? Maybe half who’ll see the movie do for my cock. It’s big. But the rest of them want to see this.” He shoved his grotesque stump at her. “This! They want to see me broken. They’re lining up like I’m a circus freak. That’s how it’s going to come out, Brienne. No matter how nicely you do it, this is what people will come for. _The man that used to be Jaime Lannister._ ”

“You’re still you!”

“How can you know that? You didn’t know me until this movie, wench.”

“It’s a hand. It’s just a hand!”

“I _was_ that hand.”

Brienne looked about to protest again. He cut her off.

“Don’t treat my loss as nothing, wench. Losing is never nothing. Don’t talk to me about things you know nothing about.”

He brushed past her and sat on the couch. It was still warm and dented from her body. He sank into it.

“Well.” Was all Brienne could say.

He looked at her. She went to the table and retrieved her phone.

“If that’s that. Then I really should go. Tell the people I’ve failed and to face the consequences. You should get in touch with Tyrion too and tell him to get ready. The producers intend to flay us.” She started pressing keys then pressed the phone to her ear.

Jaime startled them both with what he said next.

“Stay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading the update.
> 
> If you enjoyed this, I'm grateful. Updating has been difficult because of life. I'll do my best to update faster or at least, be more regular about it. I know how maddening it can get waiting ages for an update and it never comes. That's not going to happen here. This story will be finished, and it will still be within the frame I first expected (within two months or less). 
> 
> Your comments and questions would be appreciated. Cheers to you. 
> 
> ****
> 
> Compared to the first chapter where there's an attempt of humor, this one sees a definite shift and it's not for easy reading. I'm assuming that when you're a film director with a career resting solely on the success of this movie then having to deal with producers and an actor battling his demons, it's going to be hell. The exchange between Jaime and Brienne is an attempt to be as authentic as possible in such a situation.
> 
> *******  
> The Izembaro is the equivalent of an Academy Award in Westeros.
> 
> Weirwood is Hollywood.


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime tells Brienne the truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dialogue-heavy chapter!
> 
> Language is still strong and explicit.

 

Brienne frowned. The refusal was at the tip of her tongue but Jaime was faster.

“You arrived just before the roads became impassable, either by foot or by land transport. Even if you have an aircraft you won’t be flying because ether because the visibility is poor. How the fuck did you get here anyway?”

“The snowmobile broke down a few miles away.” Brienne’s legs were still aching from the trek through thick snow. “I walked.”

“The town is over an hour and a half away. You used that from there?” Jaime’s forehead wrinkled in puzzlement.

“No.” Brienne strode to the sideboard to get the brandy. She was going to have a hangover that would make the Stranger weep. “My fucking pilot came on to me. Visibility has been tricky all day. He offered to take me here.” She shuddered in revulsion from the memory. “He didn’t make an inappropriate pass at me or anything but he was clear with what he wanted from me. I told him to take a fucking hike.”

“Huh. You went full wench on him, didn’t you?” He grinned. “I would have wanted to see that.”

“Well, if you had, that makes one more person who knows what a stupid ass I was. I forgot about my stuff in the plane. He still has them. He expects me early tomorrow morning to give flying a try.” Brienne hoped he thought the blush on her cheeks was from the alcohol instead of embarrassment.

“Yet you were leaving?”

“I could walk back into town.” She answered in a small voice. She didn’t realize how far town was. She thought it was just a few miles!

Jaime snorted. “You _are_ a stupid ass.”

He took the brandy from her and shoved it back in the shelf. As she finished her drink, he said, “You’ll want to get out of those clothes.” He pointed towards the stairs. “Bathroom’s in my bedroom. To your right. Help yourself with whatever’s in my closet.” Peering at her critically from head to toe, he added, “You look like you could use something hot.”

“I—I’d love a bath, if possible,” she admitted, feeling her neck go warm.

“Help yourself. I’ll scrounge up a meal for you. Bring you tea. You’re not vegan or anti-gluten or into paleo shit, are you?”

She shook her head.

“Good. Because there’s none of that in here and if you were any of these things, it’s your death and it won’t be in my conscience, wench.”

She watched him turn and head for the kitchen without a backward glance. It was tempting to scratch her head but it wouldn’t make what just happened any clearer.

It had been less than five minutes ago when they were at each other’s throats, both determined to win. Hells, her throat still hurt. Then Jaime asked her to stay and he was suddenly concerned, bright emerald eyes scanning her intently from head to toe. It had been dizzying, the shift from growling man to. . .she didn’t know what to call it. Then just as she has settled with herself that he was simply being a decent human being, he turned around and did the equivalent of kicking her in the shins by telling her he wasn’t going to do anything to accommodate her if she had any special food requirements. If she had them, she wouldn’t be the diva expecting him to do that but the change stung.

Brienne pulled off her boots. As petty retaliation, she left them right there in the middle of the room before going up the stairs.

She first saw the study at the top of the floor. The room was small and the paint was faded, blue-gray. The desk looked new and was very modern with sharp, streamlined edges. It held a laptop computer and an external hard drive. Behind it was a narrow shelf crammed with peeling paperbacks.

The bedroom had a tufted, king-sized bed in gray. The pillows and the sheets were only slightly rustled. Except for a small pile of used clothes on the bench at the foot of the bed and more on a chair, this room appeared hardly in use. She sniffed, detecting the mild spice of an aftershave. Maybe Jaime liked things to be neat. There was hardly any clutter downstairs, except for the books on the coffee table, she recalled.

She pulled off her heavy, cable-knit sweater then her long-sleeved t-shirt. Her wool-lined pants were kicked off with haste. Left to her threadbare white tank and black panties, she went to the closet and found sweaters and pants there.

It was warm in the house but the cold seeped. It was almost painful how her nipples tightened so she rubbed her arms to stop the goosebumps traversing her skin. The volume of clothes told her Jaime intended to stay for a while. Seeing them was enough to get her angry again. He really was a selfish bastard.

Her career was riding on this film but with Jaime clearly not returning, it meant all the hours and money were for naught. All of that, wasted, simply because this one man suddenly changed his mind. Maybe she should just go back to indies. She never had problems like this.

She felt bad for Sam. This was the first script he sold and he was a shy, bumbling fellow. He was clearly talented with the pen and it would be a crime for his stories never to make it to film. He was roadkill as far as Jaime was concerned.

She picked a heavy sweater and jeans, putting them on the bed. As she finished, a brief rap came to the door then it opened. She straightened up as Jaime stepped in with a cup of the promised tea. His feet skidded to a halt upon seeing her.

“Sorry,” he said, his eyes dropping to nipples straining against her tank. “I thought you were decent.”

Brienne shrugged, despite her blush. She knew her body did not have sensual womanly curves but was  athletic and hard. No men had ever looked at her with desire, what with her non-existent tits, straight waist and thick, muscular thighs. But she was suddenly conscious of Jaime’s stare. He was quick to look away, though. Men, she thought, a mix of bitterness and resignation. No matter the woman, they always looked at the chest first. Of course.

“It doesn’t matter,” she answered with a shrug, watching him put the tea on the nightstand. “Thank you.”

“Take your time,” Jaime told her, never giving her another glance on his way to the door. He shut it firmly. She listened to his footsteps disappear before going to the nightstand and sipping the tea. Good old chamomile.

She finished the tea then went to the bathroom. Her motions were languid, indicating tiredness from the forced trek in the snow. She filled up the tub and looked around the bathroom. Aftershave, deodorant, cologne, electric razor, shaving cream, the toilet seat left up. A towel left on the stone of the sink. This room was clearly more in use than the bedroom.

She left her clothes on the floor then stepped in the tub. The warm water drew a groan from her and she sat down quickly, eager for more.

The bath was exactly what she needed. The water loosened the stiffness in her shoulders, her arms, down her legs and her feet. For those blessed thirty minutes, she turned her mind off from studio execs intimidating her, Tyrion and Podrick trying to dissuade her from pursuing Jaime, Sam looking like he wanted to cry when Jaime didn’t show up for the last scene. She found soap on the shelf and scrubbed herself clean then lay back again, closing her eyes.

When the water began to get cold, she sat up. She splashed some on her face, rubbed her eyes, then got out.

She found a thick, black robe hanging at the door and put it on. The warmth that wrapped her body dissipated, leaving her chilled again. She hurried back to the room and put on clothes. She found a pair of socks on the chair, clearly used but her feet were beginning to cramp from the chill. So she put them on then went downstairs.

A rich, earthy aroma was coming from the kitchen. Curious, she went there and saw Jaime ladling stew into a bowl. At the sound of her approach, he glanced at her over his shoulder. “Good. You’re done. I was about to come get you.”

“I nearly fell asleep in the tub,” she admitted, flushing. She watched him, one-handed, take care with putting the stew in the bowl. “Can I help?”

“No,” was the curt reply. “Sit your ass down, wench.”

 _“Brienne,”_ she snapped but pulling out a chair and planting herself on it. Jaime pulled on an oven mitt. It was awkward getting his hold of the bowl, pressing against his stomach. But he managed to bring it to her without the contents spilling.

It was stew, her nose told her. It had carrots and onions, plump chunks of meat and a reddish-brown stew smelling heavenly of spices. Jaime went off again and when he returned, he held out a spoon to her. She took it.

“Thanks,” she murmured as he sat down in front of her. He didn’t have a bowl. “You’re not eating?”

“Just had breakfast. That was last night’s dinner,” he said, nodding at her food. “Eat it. Maybe it will remove the ugly scowl from your face.”

“That’s really a nice way of inviting me to dig in,” she retorted, swirling the spoon in the bowl. “So, you made this?”

“Why? Do you think because I’m one-handed I can’t feed or cook for myself?”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

“Well, I know that you wouldn’t be asking that if I still had two hands.” Jaime seemed to relent then said, grudgingly, “Everything’s pre-cut, pre-chopped, pre-everything.”

Brienne was about to marvel at his preparedness when it hit her. She looked at him. “You really were going to disappear for a while, weren’t you?”

“That’s still the plan, wench.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“I’ve called you a lot of things and that’s what you don’t want me to call you?”

“It’s sexist and demeaning.”

“What about when you call me an idiot, a stupid fuck, a bastard and whatever you’ve got in this extensive dictionary of yours?”

Her blue eyes flashed. “That’s different. I have actual evidence to back them up. You’ve been calling me that since day one.”

Jaime shrugged. “You never said anything.”

“Because I thought I’d just let it be. Now that I know what kind of person you are, I’m not having it.” She cut a piece of meat, scooped some carrots then the stew. She brought it to her mouth and fresh flavors exploded on her tongue. Her eyes widened while Jaime looked on, his expression smug.

“That’s a slight improvement of the scowl,” he remarked. “Have more.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Jaime,” she said, continuing to eat. As she chewed, she continued, “Delicious stew aside, you’re a piece of shit.”

“A one-handed piece of shit.”

“You said it.”

“You have no idea how it is for me. I don’t give a fuck if the movie was supposed to be my big comeback. But you’re making me out into a freak and you don’t know it.”

“How is that?’ She demanded. “I did everything I could to accommodate you. I said you could have a double. We’ll just tie the guy’s arm at his back and fit him with a prosthetic arm.”

“You wouldn’t have hired me if I still had two hands. You wanted me because I lacked the appendage.”

Brienne let out an annoyed huff. “Didn’t you hear what I just said?”

“You’re talking about one scene, wench.”

“You’re so stupid!” She exclaimed, plunking the spoon heavily on the stew. “I wanted you for the role because your talent and range suited it. You’re the only one I wanted!”

“You said there as another guy!”

“I wouldn’t have taken the job if the studio pushed him on me.”

“Fucking right.” Jaime pushed his chair back and stormed out of the kitchen.

“I don’t fucking believe this!” Brienne muttered under her breath before following him. Finding Jaime with his back facing her and his arms crossed, she sighed and kept her spot by the kitchen doorway. “Look at me.”

He ignored her.

“You fucking look at me,” she growled. _“Jaime.”_

She was shaking from frustration and the anger he had managed to incite from her again. She was through with this man and was just thinking of surviving the night until her departure. But he was far from finished with her. She regretted the awful names she had called him. There was no excuse. Looking at him now, something was slowly beginning to click in her brain. Jaime wanted something from her. He wanted her to confirm something and wasn’t going to stop until she did.

Finally, he looked at her. His emerald eyes were dark and narrowed, his square jaw tight. He seemed to be struggling to rein in his temper too, she noticed, seeing the tension in his shoulders.

“I’ve always believed in you.”

“Bullshit.” He snarled and turned away from her again. This time Brienne went to him and grabbed him by the right arm, forcing him to look at her. He gasped in shock, glaring at where her hand remained then turning those eyes on her.

“Listen to me—”

“Don’t touch me—” He shook her off.

“What do you want me to say?” Brienne demanded. “You’re a one-handed freak? Someone who was good—once? Alright. I’ll say it again. You were good—once. You’ve always been good and I’ve always admired you. I don’t know how it is to go through what you went through---”

“Do not,” Jaime warned, stepping close enough that the tip of his nose bumped her. Brienne jumped back. “Talk to me about what happened.”

“Why? Maybe someone should. You’re not a fucking freak, Jaime! You never were! But if you continue thinking like that—”

“I didn’t want to do the movie. I disappeared after the accident because I knew it was only a matter of time before the jobs stopped coming. Can you see me as a romantic lead? Can you imagine me with a shotgun? I left because I wasn’t going to let Weirwood reject and spit me out. Five years!” he spat. “Five years, wench. It took me that long to pass for normal again. You don’t know how it is to be looked at by people, fucking strangers and nothings who make the sum of you simply because you’re missing a fucking hand!”

He tried walking past her but she grabbed him by the shoulders.

“I don’t know? You’re right, Jaime. I don’t know how it is to lose a hand but I fucking damn know how it is to be looked at and found to severely lacking. That’s my whole life. You think being called a freak is the worst? How about knowing that there are people who don’t see me as a person?”

They glared at each other, both flushed but Brienne was definitely redder. Realizing she was still gripping his shoulders, she dropped her hands and stepped away.

“You were never a freak. You lost a hand. I’m sorry you did. I’m sorry you felt that the industry didn’t want you anymore. But I’ve always admired you. Had that script fallen in my hands and things happened differently for you, it’s still you I’d work with. You’re my only choice.” She said, meeting his gaze. “There’s no one I’d work with for this movie. Yes, it’s my way of getting into the mainstream but only with you.”

She went to sit on the couch, suddenly feeling light-headed. She sank deeply on it, staring at the ceiling.

“I don’t know what’s going on with you, Jaime. But I wish you’d told me instead of disappearing and compromising everything that had been done. You’re gonna get sued,” she said, shifting her tired gaze at him. “I will get sued. But you know who I feel really badly for? It’s Sam. This is his work. We’re just people ensuring it gets done and look what happened. He’s just a kid.”

Jaime sat down on a chair and looked at her. Brienne tried not to squirm. He stared as if peering at her through a microscope, determining what to make of her to know where and how to strike next. Her cheeks warmed, a flush beginning there and spreading to her neck.

“You’re still good, you know. If only you’d believe me instead of fighting me.”

“I don’t want to be seen as an actor with one hand, wench.” Jaime told her after a moment.

“You’re more than that.”

He snorted and she sat up, her forehead wrinkling. “You don’t believe me, do you?”

“Brienne, don’t be all innocent. You’re pushing it. You know people will say whatever they have to in order to get something from others.”

It was like taking a knife in the guts. “You think that’s what I’m doing.”

“You’re here to take me back, kicking and screaming. You try to warn me about a lawsuit but really.”

“I can’t.” Brienne stood up, feeling sick. “There’s only so much I can do, Jaime. You don’t believe me. Yes, I’m here to take you back. I’m actually trying to protect you, you fucking dolt. But you have all these assumptions and I just. . .I can’t. I really can’t.”

“You don’t know how much that scene scares me.”

“Then tell me!” She yelled jerking to her feet and making him jump in his seat. “Fucking talk to me about it instead of tearing at me again!”

“I told you,” he hissed, swallowing hard. “The scene you want from me. . .it scares me.”

“Then we’ll use a body double,” she growled.

“That’s your solution? I tell you I’m scared and you tell me don’t fucking do it?”

“You just told me you believe I’m saying what I say simply to get something out of you. What’s the point?”

“I tell you I’m afraid and the first thing you do is get me away from it. I don’t need protecting, wench.”

“You’re the last person who does. I just. . .look, if you don’t want to do it, fucking don’t.”

“I’m not saying I don’t. I’m telling you it scares me.”

Brienne didn’t answer. She just looked at him before turning to head upstairs. There was nowhere to go in this house. As she climbed, she heard Jaime sigh loudly, the sound dragged deep from his chest. He cursed.

Wearily, she sat on the bed and stared blankly at the wall. Out of the corner of her eye, Jaime entered the room, paused then sat down beside her. Their shoulders brushed and she moved to make room for him.

Jaime ran his hand through his hair. It was a habit that conveyed impatience and frustration, she had come to learn. She was tempted to brush the lock that hung over his right ear but she wouldn’t touch him.

“I talk to a shrink once a week. I need it. I still dream of having two hands. But I talk to him mainly because I’m no longer the man I used to be. I don’t know what to make of myself now, wench. What I can tell you for sure is I’m no fan.”

He rested his elbows on his knees and continued.

“I used to be the man everyone wanted to be. I was paid millions, directors wanted me, critics loved me. The women would do anything so I’d fuck them. I had everything people in this job could only dream of. Then. . .it happened. I was driving too fast on a slippery road. I lost control. When I woke up, I was pinned inside the car and my right hand was crushed beyond repair. There was no saving it. I thought the pain was hell. What followed was Seven Hells.”

Brienne had read about the accident and the amputation was horrible. It was the headline for weeks. Her face went warm because she was one of the many who monitored the news and scooped up every mention of Jaime’s condition.

“I retreated. I refused interviews. Turned away from everyone except my family. Tyrion was the only one who treated me normally. Our father won’t look at me. I was relieved when he died. It was last year.”

“I’m sorry.” She put her hand over his. Jaime turned his hand so she could press it on his palm. They stared at their joined hands. His was elegant with long, slim fingers. Hers had long fingers too but they were rough. It was also bigger.

“He said it my fault.”

“No.” Brienne was quick to refute. “Never. Do not think that.”

Jaime’s chuckle was bitter. “I can’t help it, you know? He kept telling me how he did his damnedest that I grew up cautious and responsible. He did. Oh, he really did. There was only one path as a Lannister and that was the boardroom, the head of the conference table. Not once did he go or watch any of my movies, wench. _Not once._ He said to me, this was after the surgery so I was still drugged up but Tyrion confirmed it, that after what happened, maybe I’ll grow up and do something serious with my life. I fucking had acting awards. Directors were always casting me. Everyone wanted me in their movies and here was Tywin Lannister, believing that because I lied for a living, I wasn’t being serious.”

As Jaime trembled, Brienne, still holding his hand, put an arm around his shoulders. She hugged him to her side. “I’m really sorry, Jaime. He should never have said that.”

“I hated him but he was my father, you know?”

“I do,” she whispered.

“I’m fucked up.”

“You’re not. _Jaime_.” She had to speak sharply to get him to look at her. Her eyes were fierce. “You’re not. You’re a lot more than you think you are. A lot. _I swear it._ ”

He looked away. Then, with a deep sigh, he let go of her hand. Brienne had to stamp down on another wave of frustration. Just when they were getting somewhere! But he didn’t leave. Instead, he glanced at her. His shoulders sank then he started pulling up the right sleeve of his sweater.

It was a slow process but Brienne made no offer to assist. This was important to Jaime. She watched until he dragged the sleeve high enough to reveal the stump.

Jaime Lannister was a handsome and a beautiful man. His hair was thick and golden, calling for fingers to run through whether cropped short or worn to his shoulders. His eyes were an intriguing emerald green that sometimes switched to jade, depending on his mood. She knew from the many photo shoots he’d had that his beauty was only matched by a body honed by gym equipment and Valyrian steel discipline.

If one gave prime importance to physical beauty, then the stump as a tragedy. It was the scar on a smooth, perfect surface. It looked weak, almost fragile compared to the rest of Jaime. The flesh was puckered and looked rough. Yes. This was a tragedy.

Jaime stared at her, challenge and defiance in his gaze, but also a sliver of uncertainty. This was the man Brienne knew lurked under the tough, snarling exterior. This was the person she knew could deliver exactly the kind of justice required of the role in _Kingslayer._ She looked at the stump, saddened that this still tortured Jaime. Would always torture him, probably. There was only so much she could do between that and him. She was not family, not a lover, not a friend. She was a colleague and whatever partnership or connection they had, if they had it, had died when he left suddenly.

But the movie, and she couldn’t believe it, no longer mattered. Something more important was happening.

Meeting Jaime’s stare, she tentatively reached for his stump. He hissed. She quickly took her hand back, flushing.

“S-Sorry. . .” she stammered.

Jaime shook his head. “It’s alright. It’s just that. . .it’s sensitive in the cold, I think.”

No wonder he was always tortured. He must still experience pain. He still felt the ghost of his hand as if it was still a part of him.

She was more careful when she wrapped her hand around his stump. It had slight ridges and raises, tickling her palm. She stared back at him, her eyes reflecting his defiance.

“Your loss is not the end, Jaime.”

 

*****  
  
Hours later, a hard slap on Brienne’s bottom snapped her awake. Her eyes were still hazy but the scowl that formed on her face was downright lethal. “What the fuck, Jaime?” She demanded, pushing her hair out of her eyes. “Why are you dressed?”

Jaime wearing a heavy, tufted red jacket, with the hood pulled on his head. He was in black pants and heavy boots. The motherfucking dimples were back. On any other day, Brienne would welcome it but it was still so fucking early.

“We have a plane to catch, wench,” he said, a gloved hand yanking the blanket to the foot of the bed. Brienne shrieked at the cold that whipped through her legs despite the socks and long johns. He smirked and she glared at him.

“We? Plane? What the hell?”

He rolled his eyes then went to the closet. Tossing clothes at her, he answered, “We have a movie to finish.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You made it to the end!
> 
> Thanks a bunch for reading this latest update!


	4. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime wonders about the choices he made in the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dialogue-heavy chapter once again. I hope you read it through the end and it's worth the wait.

 

The coffee was black and bitter, with only the suggestion of sugary sweetness. Exactly as Jaime had always liked it. He imbibed the stuff like a man with a great thirst and would knock back two more before the end of the day. Sitting in the back of the limousine, cocooned in its warmth and soft, leather seats, the cup was now cool in its holder and untouched. He wasn’t going to touch it anymore.

His brother Tyrion sat next to him, and across their seat was Jaime’s assistant, Peck. They were close but their voices may as well be hushed tones given the distance of Jaime’s thoughts. He stared out of the heavily-tinted windows without really seeing anything. Shops had the same facades as the houses they whizzed past as far as he was concerned, and the rolling hills pretty much like the fields. Crimson, gold, brown and green still dominated the landscape though it was predicted winter would begin in less than two weeks. Jaime hoped to be out of the city by then. He thought to either return to Lannisport or put an ocean between him and the entire Westeros by hitting any random country in Essos.

He closed his eyes. And as it had been happening since returning to civilization two days ago, his mind was plunged into a sea of blue, sparkling like a thousand sapphires. Brienne’s stunned expression at his announcement to finish the movie was just too precious to be forgotten so he played it over and over. Straw-blond hair mussed and falling over her eyes, those fucking gorgeous eyes heavy with sleep. She was not expecting him to ever say that and it was worth seeing her cross and struggling to remain awake during the flight back. He tortured her by calling her, “Abominable snow wench,” delighting in the reds and pinks spreading across her face. No smart comebacks or any type of comeback from the wench came since she could barely stand on two feet. She was that tired.

Once in the plane, he ordered her to just close her eyes and use his shoulder for a pillow.

Her head slumped on his shoulder as soon as he finished talking. Then she started snoring. It had their pilot turning to look at them—some ginger-haired idiot who wouldn’t stop leering at Brienne. This must be the asshole she told him about, Jaime thought, making a big show of putting an arm around her shoulders and pulling her close. Brienne had sighed, murmured his name, and snuggled against him like a kitten. The pilot never looked at her again.

Brienne was still yawning hugely when they landed. In between, she asked Jaime to give her a couple of days to set things up—there was the crew to organize, the location to confirm, not to mention the studio execs and producers she had to pacify. He told her he should face those sharks. She disagreed and gave him the truth: they were serious pissed. There was no choice, she had to be the one to deal with them. Tyrion confirmed it when he arrived to pick up Jaime from the airport.

He had not seen Brienne since but they kept in touch through calls. For the shoot, the crew would be minimal—just her and Sam. The room had to be prepped by a staff but once shooting commenced, they were to clear out. Any adjustments to be made—lights, for example—she could do herself. But Sam had to be there in case of changes in the script.

The shoot would be at Highgarden House, a grand, old estate in the suburbs of Westeros. It was currently in the market for thirty seventeen million gold dragons. Tall iron gates with curlicues, armed with security, manned the property. The drive from here to the mansion was around a mile and a half.

Trees crowned with rich crimson and gold leaves lined the paved driveway. Despite the clear, professional touch of a landscape architect, the surrounding forest was still natural and lush. Highhgarden house loomed straight ahead, with its emerald-green rooftop. The wildness of nature gave way to trimmed lawns and bushes of winter roses the closer they approached the house.

“There’s no turning back, Jaime,” Tyrion said, knowing his brother wasn’t really asleep. Jaime opened his eyes and looked at him.

A dwarf with pinched facial features, Tyrion was an aberration of the elegant, refined features known about the Lannisters. His hair was pale, nearly white, instead of gold. Rather than emerald eyes, he had a pale green gaze that almost melted in the sclera. He stood a little over four-foot-five, shuffled when he walked instead of strode.

Tywin Lannister had been a harsh father. He ruled the boardroom with an iron fist and people quaked at the sight of him—including his sons. He didn’t mince words in expressing disappointment in them, especially with Jaime. Tyrion being born a dwarf consigned him to a life of never measuring up to Tywin’s unforgiving standards and it was only his sharp mind that averted some of the latter’s wrath.

At his deathbed, however, Tywin could hardly stomach the idea of the family corporation being under Tyrion and thus stipulated in his will that it be run with Kevan. Kevan had been looking forward to retiring and was now forced to comply with his older brother’s wishes. Unlike Tywin, Kevan respected Tyrion a great deal. But the words of a dead man had to be fulfilled.

Jaime, though younger, was the son Tywin wanted at the helm. The relationship between them had been bitter since the day Jaime dropped out of law school and pursued acting. The accident only exacerbated a tensed relationship.

If Tyrion was the Lannister Tywin was ashamed of, Jaime was the Lannister ill-deserving of the name. He refused to have Jaime face him without a prosthetic. Everyone had gasped when Jaime threw his false hand on the coffin as it was lowered in the grave. It had been freedom.

Jaime chewed on a thumbnail. It was ironic that for his movie, his character was wearing a prosthetic. It was the twist in the scene he would be shooting. The feared mobster who never hesitated to cut off the hands of anyone who displeased him had been punished the same way.

“I know,” he said, lowering his hand.

“You only have to call me if you change your mind.”

The limo stopped. Jaime saw the driver walk around to open the door for him. “I won’t be changing my mind.”

“Go with him, Peck,” Tyrion told him.

“No,” was Jaime’s quick answer. The door opened but he turned to the men. Speaking more calmly, he said, “That won’t be necessary. I’ll be alright.”

“Jaime—” Tyrion began to insist but Jaime stepped out of the car and nodded at the driver. The door closed.

He barely acknowledged the security and members of the crew who greeted him as he entered the house. That was fine. Despite doggedly walking ahead and having no idea where he should go, he noticed that people were either too careful to not look at the empty cuff of his jacket or snuck a glance that they thought he wouldn’t see. _That’s right._ _Look at the poor one-handed fool,_ he thought bitterly.

Though Highgarden was up for sale, it was still furnished, from the grand, crystal chandeliers to the rich carpets rendered in gold and green. The antique, elegant furniture reminded him too much of Casterly. Perhaps it shouldn’t be the place to go when shooting wrapped up. Essos might be the saner choice.

Before he could take another step forward, someone called out to him. He squinted at the young man who had called him. He had downcast eyes and could really use a lesson on proper posture. This was Brienne’s personal assistant but Jaime didn’t really bother to remember his name. But the boy knew him.

“Mr. Lannister. It’s good to see you,” he said, sounding a little breathless. “Er, if you would follow me?”

“Is Brienne here?” Jaime asked, falling into a step beside him. The hallway was wide enough for a parade.

“Yes. She’s helping set everything up. We’ve prepared a room for you.” He said as they climbed up the stairs.

“Tell the wen—tell Brienne I wish to speak to her,” Jaime instructed as he was led into one of the bedrooms. A mirror surrounded with lights was already there as well as a rack filled with clothes—suits for Jaime to choose from.

He eyed with frank appreciation the young woman with the auburn braid setting up the make-up cases on the mirror. Like man who brought him here, Jaime had no idea of her name although she had been doing his make-up from the start of the movie.

“Hello,” she said with a friendly smile, her light blue eyes bright. She was beautiful, he noticed, putting on a smile that was more polite than warm.

In the old days, Jaime would not hesitate to fuck her and string her along until production wrapped. She was sexy even in her high-necked angora sweater and slim jeans. Her tits were full and thrusting, her waist small and curvy. She looked like someone built for bed, would brag about being fucked by Jaime Lannister.

Jaime let out an inward sigh. Yes, in the old days.

“It’s nice to see you, Jaime,” she told him, walking past to open the door. She smelled of spicy perfume. Indeed, someone to fuck a long time ago. There was no stirring in his cock, not even the warmth in his blood in anticipation of spreading her legs. Her stared at her dully as she said, “You can change here. I’ve arranged the suits according to the order you might like, left being the one I think you’ll most like and the last one at the right a long shot.”

“You wished to speak to me?”

The mocking tone coming from behind him tugged a smile from his lips. He turned around and his grin widened.

One day that scowl would freeze on her ugly face and she was going to be uglier. The auburn-haired woman smiled at Brienne, who gave her a slight nod. Jaime cocked an eyebrow as she let herself out. Might as well. She reminded him of who he used to be and it was pointless to think of the past. He’d rather move forward.

Despite the cold weather, Brienne’s forehead and neck shone with sweat. Her pale hair looked like she had pulled and pushed at the rough mass. Dark pink was the color of her face and her eyes, though narrowed at him, were the color of sapphires. She wore a long, v-necked gray t-shirt, dotted with sweat. He licked his lips upon noticing her nipples tight and straining against the cloth. She wore black jeans and tall, black boots. He admired the muscles of her arms peeking under the sleeves, the strength of her two hands. His stump tickled, remembering the rough surface of her palm when she touched him.

“Of course,” he drawled, dropping on a chair and gesturing with his stump she take the one across.

“You do happen to know that I’m prepping the room for the shoot. I can’t sit down. What do you want?” She demanded. She headed for the rack. As she did, Jaime noticed the soft swing of her tits under her t-shirt. Seven hells. _The wench doesn’t wear a bra._

Jaime loved lingerie on women, as did every man. The removal of a bra was seduction itself, and the gift of full, heavy breasts freed from it was the best. They made women so good to hold and it was fun squeezing the mounds. He loved fucking women roughly because their breasts jiggled hard. Nothing turned him on more than a woman who wasn’t shy about her pleasure.

Since seeing Brienne’s nipples under her t-shirt when she was in his bedroom, he had been oddly intrigued. She was wearing white and the rest of her was close to that color. Despite the quick glance, he saw their soft pink color. He couldn’t remember if he had been with a woman who didn’t wear bras. And he thought at the time that Brienne just chose to do without one. But seeing her once again braless, he was surer it was an item of clothing she really did with that. Interesting. Maybe. He hadn’t fucked a woman in so long and maybe he was in need of something different.

Her tits were small, though. The only reason he knew of them was because of her nipples. She must be flat as a board. Her hips weren’t round and womanly but her legs--now those were burned in his memory. Long with toned calves, surprisingly delicate, slim ankles. Freckled from thigh to ankle. Too bad she was hiding them now in her boots.

Before he could answer, she pulled a suit from the rack, glared at it then brought it to Jaime. “Wear this.” Her tone was commanding.

“Fuck, you can’t be pleasant for a change?” Jaime complained, yanking it from her hand and tossing it to the bed. “I just want to see how you’re doing, that’s all.”

Brienne looked like she wanted to murder him. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

He chuckled and relaxed in his seat. “I fuck you not, wench. Come on. Have a seat. Relax.”

“Are you out of your fucking _godsdamned_ mind? Jaime, we’re delayed. We’re _fucking delayed_ and I was only able to get us two days to finish this _fucking movie_ and you want me to _fucking relax?_ ’

Now her eyes were blue wildfyre. Holy Seven Hells. They were something to see.

“Get up. _Up!_ ” She exclaimed when Jaime continued to lounge on the chair. He was still laughing as he stood up. She stomped to the bed and removed the shirt from the suit. “Get dressed. _Now._ ”

She held out the white shirt from the hanger, dangling it from her fingertips. Jaime sighed, took it from her and stood up. He put the shirt on the chair then shrugged off his jacket, revealing his white tee. Brienne turned to leave.

“Hold on. We haven’t talked yet,” he told her.

She shot him an exasperated look. “What about?”

With his left hand, he dragged his t-shirt off. He grinned as her eyes darted away. He knew it wasn’t because she couldn’t stand the sight of his stump. He was still muscular. Though the use of his right arm had diminished, he performed regular exercise to keep it strong and muscled.

In spite of the lack of a hand, Jaime knew he looked good. He smirked at the way Brienne was deliberately not staring at his chest. It was tan and ridged, sprinkled with golden hair.

“My last scene,” he said, slipping on the white shirt. It felt crisp and cool. Nice. He slipped his right arm through the sleeve first then frowned, unable to reach for the left sleeve. Brienne looked at him and he nodded.

Taking the shirt, she stood behind him and held it out so he could slip his left arm through. He turned around, his eyes half-squinting as he inclined with his head that she could button him up. Her cheeks pinked and her fingers fluttered to his chest. They felt like the wings of a hummingbird in earnest flight.

“What about your last scene?” She asked gruffly, staring too intently at the buttons she was working on. She stood against the light. Jaime saw the gray bruises under her gaze brought by exhaustion and he looked away, uncomfortable with the flash of concern he suddenly felt for the woman that was both the key to the next chapter of his career yet also his tormentor.

So he focused on the airy brushes of her fingertips on his skin. Her nails, he noticed, were round and short, unpolished but clean. Freckles dotted them too.

It was a novel experience having a woman dressing him for a change. His abdominal muscles tensed as her fingers lowered there. She kept her movements brisk.

“What about it?” She asked, raising her eyes to look at him.

He could smell the shampoo from her hair. Coconut, he guessed, wishing he could take a deeper whiff. She didn’t seem to be wearing perfume.

“You promise it’s just you, me and Sam?” He asked.

“Of course.” She said defensively. “Didn’t I give you my word?”

Jaime shrugged and toed off his shoes. As he did, the flush on Brienne’s face intensified. She took a step back and ended up on her ass on the bed. His smile was arrogant and laced with mischief as he started unbuckling his belt. Baby blue eyes glared at him before her feet slammed on the carpeted floor.

“You can dress on your own,” she hissed, lurching up. “Or I can get Sansa.”

Jaime pretended to frown. “We’re not done talking.”

With a flourish, he pushed his pants and kicked them away from him, stripper-style. He was wearing black boxer briefs. Brienne’s eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets as they skidded to _his_ bulge. Jaime walked around the room like it was no big deal, helping himself to a soda from the mini-bar the crew had set up.

“What? You’re going to be all bloated!” Brienne gasped. “And put your pants on!”

Jaime made a show of bending in front of the mini-bar again. “Wench, I remember my contract quite well. There’s no cream cheese from The Reach here. That was specific,” he added, affecting a scolding, annoyed tone. He straightened up, turned and ah. There. Big sapphire eyes and red cheeks. He shook his head at her and took a sip of the soda.

Brienne growled at the ceiling before storming toward him. She wrenched the can from his hands and declared, “Jaime Lannister, I swear if this shoot gets delayed because you got gassy or some other stupid reason, I’m going to staple your skinny ass on the bed!”

“Don’t body-shame me, wench,” Jaime drawled, finding way too much fun riling her up. Chuckling, he brushed past her and reached for the pants. Once again, he bent at the waist exaggeratedly, adding an innocent wiggle. He heard Brienne groan, “Father, give me strength. Mother, help me with mercy,” as he slid hand and stump through the pants to hold the waistband open. He had to sit on the bed when it was halfway up his knees to pull them easier. He glanced at Brienne as he shimmied them on before leaping back to his feet. He pressed his stump to the front packet of the pants as he zipped up then buttoned it closed.

The way Brienne was looking at Jaime made him think of a pissed off Targaryen dragon. Drogon, probably, who was one of the fiercest. He smiled at her and spread his arms to the sides. “Ta-da, wench! Look, eh?”

“Jaime, I really have to get back to the room.”

“Run the scene by me,” he told her, scooping up the tie. It was good silk. He held it out to her. “So, it’s a long day. . .”

Brienne continued to glower at him.

“It’s a long day of ordering the deaths of people who owe him money and. . .?”

“You know, I never liked being fucked in the ass,” Brienne muttered, snatching the necktie from him. She looped it around his neck and started knotting it. “After a long day of work, you’re in your bedroom. You’re tired. You look like you could sleep for at least a decade. The sun is setting. It’s another day. Then the Kingslayer starts removing his clothes.”

“Hold on.” Jaime stopped her hand. “Wench, you saw me struggling to put on that fucking shirt. How am I supposed to take that off on my own?”

“There’s a stand-in. He’ll do the work.” Brienne was blushing.

“Of course.” The big twist was the Kingslayer who ordered the right hand of his enemies cut off was also missing a hand. Jaime released her hand and Brienne continued with the tie and talking. He angled his neck as she secured the knot then lowered the collar.

“R-right,” she murmured, sounding a little breathless. “So. You’re sitting on the bed. . .”

She put her hands on his shoulders and urged him down. So Jaime did. For a second, he entertained the thought of the wench naked and straddling him. She seemed like the sort to be on top.

She got down on one knee and reached for his right arm. “You’ve removed the jacket. Started loosening the tie. As this happens, the sun continues to set. It’s a fiery sunset, the horizon is orange, like spilled blood and spreading. You continue undressing. You stand up to do your pants. The camera pans on your body, showing the strength of your muscles. You’re a hard man, Kingslayer. Nothing will break you. As you walk to the window, you’re already naked. The sun is at its brightest, like the last gasp before the light dies. You stare at the world outside your window. It’s your kingdom. Yours. Then you raise your right hand. . .and pull it off.”

She rolled up the sleeve of the shirt and again her big warm hand closed around the puckered flesh as if it wasn’t repulsive. Jaime took a breath so deep and sharp his chest and shoulders rose. Again there was the scent of her shampoo.

“You raise your arm,” she continued, pulling it up. “And stare at it. It’s a tensed moment and the camera zooms close. It’s not pretty,” she added, flushing as she glanced at the scars on his arm. “It’s the sum of the god of the underworld. You look out the window again, into the horizon. You lower your arm. You have come so far. You’ve lost so much. Then you smile, but it’s cold. Nothing will stop you. No loss can stop you. That’s why you’re the Kingslayer.”

They stared at each other quietly moments after she stopped talking. Her eyes shone with the brilliance of raw gemstones. For once she stared at him with softness. Jaime thought it was hope and he felt his stomach twist. No one had looked at him as she was for a long time. He couldn’t remember if anyone had.

His left hand was about to touch a limp lock of pale hair fallen over her forehead when someone knocked. Brienne got up, putting her stomach right at the level of Jaime’s lips. He caught the clean scent of her soap, as if she had just taken a shower.

“Hey, Brie,” said the auburn-haired woman with the big breasts. “They need you in the room?”

“Alright. I’ll be there.” She turned back to him. The scowl was back. “You’re in Sansa’s hands, Jaime. Behave.”

 

The prosthetic was heavy. Months were sent trying to make it look as real as possible and the creators made note of his inputs. Still, wearing it brought back unpleasant memories.

Brienne was hard at work in the bedroom, running and managing the crew. Jaime’s steps faltered as he neared her. Probably sensing his presence, she turned and nodded. A look passed between them then she was clapping her hands and ordering the rest of the crew to get out. Out of the room, out of the house, out of the property. That was unexpected. Jaime had been hoping for some isolation but thought it might be too much. Much as he liked riling up the wench, he did pull a dick move disappearing just like that.

The crew murmured polite greetings at him, some muttering and trying not to look at the hand dangling from his arm. Jaime ignored them, refusing to be affected by sheep.

As soon as the room was empty, Brienne turned to him, a hand on her waist. “Right. Jaime. So I shot the scenes I told you about with the stand-in yesterday. Let me show you what you’re going to do.”

It took them half an hour, running through Brienne’s direction then practicing it. It made Jaime feel alive, to be working again, and with a director more interested in collaborating than ordering him about. She demonstrated where she wanted him, what he should do. He would follow. It was an awkward dance that gradually acquired rhythm.

Jaime did numerous takes of the scene, not because he couldn’t get the sequence right but he wanted Brienne to have choices when she started editing. She blushed when he told her that, and her pale eyelashes fluttered rapidly, her lower lip trembled.

They turned to Sam for suggestions too. Samwell Tarly stammered less now although he still had a cow-eyed look around Brienne. Jaime smirked at that. The boy clearly worshipped the director because his dark eyes never left her face and he nodded eagerly at everything she said.

One of Sam’s suggestions was for Jaime to stand in front of the window, sans the suit jacket. He would unroll the right sleeve and rub his wrist. He would grimace in pain and then, slowly, he would undo the attachments of the prosthetic, gradually revealing his stump.

For Jaime, he found that the scene might suggest horror instead of revealing a man hardened by his choices, seemingly inhuman but actually still in possession of his humanity. Brienne subtly told Sam the same thing and the amateur screenwriter weighed her words. Ever diplomatic, she shrugged and said, “It won’t hurt to see it done, though. So, shall we?”

Brienne went behind the camera and Jaime did the scene. He strode toward the window, his steps heavy and dragging but his spine still erect, conveying strength despite the need to collapse. He looked at his right hand then the landscape again.

“Cut,” Brienne called out.

She took the camera and went out of the house. She would be shooting the following scene from outside.

Jaime got ready and looked up. Sure enough, there was Brienne, fixing the camera. She had been doing this all day, doing these shoots from the exterior. She would put on her jacket. This time, she wasn’t wearing it.

It was hard looking troubled when her nipples were at his face. He wanted to thumb the stiff nubs and watch her blush. Will she fall apart from a tender touch or a rough caress?

After shooting for four hours straight, Brienne called for a break. She brought Jaime and Sam to his dressing room. There was a set-up of a platter of fresh vegetable sticks, vegan dip, some steamed salmon, fresh fruit scooped into little balls.

The meal was brief. Jaime was eager to get back in front of the camera and Brienne behind it. He wanted to shoot the last scene already, the one where he was going to be nude. Brienne and Sam left him.

This time, Jaime managed to undress by himself. Of course he knew how. He smiled, remembering Brienne’s outraged expression when he started taking off his pants.

Nude, he picked one of the robes hanging from the rack and tied it closed. His left hand had acquired much dexterity and his stump could give some assistance. Done, he left the room.

Brienne was taping an X-marks on where he would be walking and standing. She was on her knees as she worked. The loose, gaping neckline of her t-shirt gave Jaime a view of her small tits. More freckles.

She got up and nodded at Jaime. He hoped he was able to hide his smile. He was supposed to be miserable and tired in the scene, damn it.

The camera began to roll. It should be the easiest thing. Jaime had done full frontal scenes before. But this was the first time since the accident.

Seven takes into the scene, with Jaime missing his cues and faltering, Brienne pulled him aside. Sam, out of respect, remained out of the earshot.

“What’s wrong?” He was surprised at the gentleness in her tone.

“I don’t know,” he answered, frustrated. “Wench, this scene is supposed to easy. I don’t know why I’m freezing up. Fuck. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” she told him firmly and shaking her head.

“You’ll get your shot in the next one,” he vowed.

“Jaime, come on. Don’t beat yourself up over it. Are you sure you’re ready? Because---”

His glare silenced her. Her blush was a fiery spread of red from forehead to her chest. He wondered if her breasts would be covered in the blush too.

“Alright. We’ll do it your way,” she told him. “But the minute you’re not—”

“I’m finishing this. I won’t be changing my mind, wench.”

This time she glared at him before turning on her heel.

Jaime disrobed once again, keeping in mind where he should go and how he should be feeling. He went through the motions. As he went to the window for the crucial reveal, he suddenly tripped and pitched forward. His quick reflexes saved him from a broken nose although Brienne cried out.

“Are you alright?” She asked, about to approach him. Jaime shook his head.

“I just tripped, that’s all,” he snapped. Immediately, he regretted his sharp tone. “Sorry.”

“Jaime, if you need more time---” she began to say.

“Don’t,” he growled. Gods. What happened to the woman who believed in him? _The wench should be throwing kisses at me for agreeing to do this fucking thing._ He tried to ignore the hurt in her awesome blue eyes.

“Look, just give a minute here, alright? Give me space,” he demanded.

Brienne hurried back behind the camera, a hunch in her shoulders. Jaime swallowed a groan. He didn’t put his robe back on this time—which had Sam looking away. Great. The writer was repulsed. He should have known.

Brienne noticed Jaime looking at Sam darkly. She glanced heavenward, murmured a silent prayer then turned back to them.

“Sam, Jaime and I need the room. I’ll call you if I need you.”

Sam was surprised. “But what about changes in the script, Brienne? Shouldn’t I be here?”

“That’s why I’ll just call you. Keep your line open, okay?’ Brienne patted him on the shoulder. “Sam, don’t worry. You did great today. I hope I’ll get to work with you again.”

Sam looked like he would kiss her giant feet. “I didn’t---thank you, Brienne. Thank you.”

Jaime raised his eyebrow as Sam’s fat hands cradled Brienne’s.

“Thank you for believing in the story, Brienne,” Sam said.

“When it’s from you, you betcha,” She kissed him on the forehead. “I’m proud of you, no matter what, okay, Sam?”

Sam looked relieved. “That means a lot, Brienne. And yes, please. I’d love to work with you again. Uh, J-Jaime. . .”  he said, giving him an awkward wave.

“See you around,” Jaime said coolly before Sam left.

As soon as the door closed, he demanded, “What the fuck was that?”

“You were uncomfortable and either didn’t know or was too proud to say it,” Brienne said, unperturbed by his outburst.

“Don’t presume to know what I think, wench.”

“That’s highly debatable. Whether you actually think.”

“Fuck you.”

“Good. Fuck you too. Gather that, mine that, and give me the scene we both want, Jaime.” Brienne said, snapping her fingers at him. “It’s just you and me now. There’s nothing to be scared of.”

Jaime glared at his false hand.

“Jaime, you can do this.” Brienne said, softly.

He sighed and nodded.

But in the next take, Jaime was still clearly uncomfortable and missed a lot of the cues. Her patience in shreds, Brienne had to scrape her mind for something close to a solution.

Jaime, who was now back in his robe, sat dejectedly on the bed.

“There’s a way to get from you what I know you have,” Brienne said, dogged still despite Jaime wanting to call it a day. She paced back and forth until he got dizzy. “I need you to trust me, Jaime. Relax with me. I won’t hurt you.”

Jaime stared at her. “What makes you think I’m not relaxed?”

“You’re missing your cues? You stop mid-stride? Your hands shake? You want an entire list?” Brienne demanded.

Jaime waves his hand. “Let’s just get this over and done with.”

“I have a solution.”

“Fine. Let’s hear it.”

But the solution didn’t come from Brienne’s lips. It was from her body.

Jaime’s jaw hit the floor as Brienne, having turned around so her back was facing him, pulled off her t-shirt. Her back muscles were insane, fleshy but firm. Her shoulders were broad, broader than most men’s and her waist was straight. She turned to Jaime, a warning look in her eyes but her cheeks pink. A sweet, beautiful pink.

Seven Hells, he thought, eyes quickly dropping to her tits. Yes, they were small as he had thought, but round and plump. Even better, her nipples were pink and puffy. Jaime felt a catch in his throat as Brienne proceeded to kick off her boots then start on her jeans.

“We’re going to be equals in this scene, Jaime,” Brienne said, kicking off her jeans and standing nude before him. She was lean and muscled, perfect for gracing the pages of an anatomy book. He stared at her cunt, a pale cluster of curls between thick, muscular thighs.

“Don’t you mock me,” she growled.

Jaime was about to make a smart and insulting retort when he felt a tightening at the pit of his stomach. It was a familiar tightening. He knew it so well. Used to.

And now it was announcing itself quite mightily that he was back. His breath was unsteady.

Jaime’s cock hardened at the sight of Brienne, pale and freckled, looking at him with an inscrutable expression. _Gods. Was it really happening?_

He watched her legs move as she walked back to the camera. Her ass was a firm peach of creamy skin and more freckles, her legs toned and very long. Jaime stared incredulously as Brienne got behind the camera as if it was nothing to work nude. Seven Hells. What a body. Unfeminine and zero curves but she was clearly strong. Jaime had always liked his women built a certain way. He would not consider fucking her at all back in the day but he couldn't stop his body's response now. 

“Let’s do that scene again,” she ordered, oblivious to her actor's torture. “From the beginning.”

Jaime wanted to curse at her but there were more pressing issues. _Hot, pressing issues._

"Take off your robe, Jaime." 

"Maybe I shouldn't," he said with a grimace. "You're right, I need time."

Brienne shook her head. "Forget it. I offered and you bit my head off. Now, Jaime. The sooner we're done, the better."

Well, fine. "If you insist, wench," he said, mustering the old Jaime Lannister bravado as he shrugged off his robe and revealed his proud, massive erection.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you make it? :-)
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	5. Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dialogue-heavy chapter ahead!
> 
> Please bear with me with the long chapter. It's earned smut this time.

 

Brienne was adjusting some settings in the camera, peering through the lens. Because she couldn’t really see the buttons her fingers were pressing, her thumb hit the zoom button. It distorted the unfocused image she was looking so she got to work fixing it. It took three seconds to realize what she was looking at, for a gasp to tumble out of her lips and for her body to fly away from the camera, face red and her eyes huge.

Jaime was erect. _Hugely erect._ Oh, gods. Brienne closed her eyes, turning her head away.

“I tried to tell you,” he growled.

Brienne opened her eyes, only to see Jaime’s reflection on the glass of the window. _All of Jaime._ She looked away again, feeling the heat creeping up her neck. But then she was really looking at Jaime, emerald eyes narrowed into slits, his jaw tight as he ground his teeth in annoyance.

Why the fuck was he looking at her as if this was her fault? She snapped her spine straight, standing to her full height as she glowered at him. “You have to do that, don’t you?”

“Newsflash, wench. Cocks don’t have brains. They just react.”

She didn’t understand what he meant first until she remembered. He chuckled harshly at the same time she glanced down at herself. _At her naked body._  Squeaking, she frantically looked around for her clothes.

Jaime was standing right next to pile of her clothes.

“Hand me those clothes!” She exclaimed, putting her hand out. “And put the robe on!”

“Fuck, will you relax? You’re going around like some outraged virgin, wench.” Jaime complained, picking up her shirt and tossing it at her. As Brienne yanked it on, he continued. “I don’t know why you’re so bothered. This has nothing do with you. It’s not you with the fucking hard-on. Well, your nipples—”

Brienne’s head popped out of the neck hole. Eyes blazing, she snarled, _“Don’t. Talk. About. My. Nipples.”_

Jaime finished belting his robe doing it deftly despite his limit. He smirked. “Why not? They’re a nice surprise. You hardly have any tits but your nipples are, well, they make up for---”

“Jaime!” She shouted, seeing his eyes drop to her tits, her stomach, then between her legs. She was still pants-less and he was still standing next to her clothes. One hand covered her cunt protectively while she jerked the other toward him.“My pants!”

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, wench. I only have one hand,” he said, taking his time to bend and pick up, of course, her panties. He held it up, his grin so big his dimples were practically splitting his face into pieces. “Hmm. Red lace panties. In the old days, wearing this color would be screaming for Lannister cock.”

Brienne’s eyes were blue daggers but he continued to smile. Blushing furiously, she hopped into them, uncaring if her rough movements might tear the delicate lace. When she looked up, Jaime had his arms crossed, still wearing that smug smirk.

“I’ve always liked a waxed pussy but your native situation is giving me second thoughts, wench.”

“Shut up! Gimme my pants!”

Jaime laughed and then, unbelievably, put his foot right on them. He was clearly enjoying her rising hysteria.

“You want me to castrate you?” Brienne hissed.

“I don’t know what you’re so worked up about. So, I’m hard. Big fucking deal. I haven’t fucked anyone for a while, wench. I have to say in clothes, one doesn’t see much. But once they’re off, fucking wow. I like the no-bra look, by the way. Didn’t think I would but. . .” he spread his palm innocently. “As I said. . .your body is giving me a lot of second thoughts.”

“Pants now, Jaime, or I _will_ murder you!”

“You’re no fun,” he grumbled, bending down and giving her the pants. Brienne snatched them away from him and turned around, unintentionally impressing him with her firm backside. Jaime grinned then dropped it as the denim covered the creamy, freckled cheeks. Dressed now, Brienne faced him, her stance stiff and her ugly face in an uglier scowl.

Clothes gave her control. Squaring her shoulders, she looked him in the eye and stated, “You’ll take care of that situation and come back here when you’re ready.”

“I can use another hand, you know,” Jaime said suggestively, his eyes twinkling as she blushed. “Or a mouth.” He licked his lips while staring at her wide mouth.

Her glare was venomous.“Leave.”

Jaime huffed, straightened the collar of his robe and sauntered out of the room. Brienne slammed the door shut after him, breathing hard.

It was never going to change, was it?

No matter how much praise she got, the prestigious awards, the so-called respect of the entertainment community, she was still an object of mockery. What did she know once her back was turned? Who smiled when facing her, who didn’t?

Brienne was never called beautiful. A long-time girlfriend of her dad’s, who had designs on becoming Mrs. Selwyn Tarth until he saw the abuse she subjected his young daughter to, had been the one to tell her quite gleefully why she will never be beautiful. Brienne hardly remembered her now. The woman wasn’t a goddess herself but passably pretty, maybe, for Selwyn to be smitten with her for years. She gave Brienne pitying looks just after Selwyn complimented her, and then pull her aside when his back was turned to say he was just being nice because he was the dad. If he wasn’t, he wouldn’t bother.

Brienne was twelve years old when Selwyn woke up to the truth about the woman but the damage was already done. She could only see herself through this woman’s eyes. Therapy only told her that it was her voice that mattered above everything else. She listened to this now, but the woman’s lessons were still there, carved in her mind and will never be gone.

She accepted she was ugly. That was a fact. She just wished people would do the same and get on with their sorry lives. Maybe she could get herself fixed, like trim her nose and make it pert and elegant maybe, but whatever the mirror showed after that would always be overshadowed by the truth. And what was she to do about her height? Was she supposed to get a boob job so that there would be something visually pleasing about her? Maybe if she did, people would forget about her ugly face and just focus on what a nice pair of tits she had.

This has nothing to do with you, Jaime told her. Of course it didn’t. She knew cocks. The words were still hurtful. She knew he wasn’t being mean and just telling the truth. She knew what she looked like. Cocks never got hard in her presence—unless she did the work.

She busied herself fixing the bed, adjusting the lights, the camera setting. They had been shooting all day and she hoped to be done before evening.

 _Alright. Concentrate on the job._ Losing herself in the filmmaking process was her antidote to tension, disappointment and hurt.

She was only puttering around for minutes but it felt longer. As she finished, the door opened and Jaime slipped back in the room, robed and looking a lot calmer. They looked at each other, Brienne hating the blush returning to her cheeks and covering her entire face. But she kept her expression impassive, her blue eyes revealing nothing.

Jaime spoke first. “It’s done.”

What did he expect her to say? She pointed at the marked spot on the floor. “Undress and put yourself there.” Her tone was brusque. She gave him a wide berth on her way to the camera.

Jaime sighed quietly and removed the robe. He left it on the chair and went to the marked area of the floor.

Fifteen minutes into the filming, Jaime suddenly turned to her and said to the camera. “You’re gonna have to relax, wench.”

She raised her head, frowning at him. “What the hell does that mean?”  

“If there’s anyone who should be embarrassed it’s me. I’m the one who fucking got hard. I’m naked. You won’t look me in the eye.” Jaime accused her.

“I’m not embarrassed,” Brienne said flatly. “But I admit I just. . well, I’m off my groove given what happened. Sorry.”

“What happened to us being equals in filming this?” Jaime demanded. Brienne had to hand it to the guy. Yep, he was as naked as the day he was born, a magnificent, gorgeous male specimen and he was fucking owning it. She refused to let her eyes drop below the waist although what she’d seen earlier was now indelible in her memory.

Meanwhile she was cowering behind the camera, hating the tightness in her nipples that she couldn’t really hide under her t-shirt.

“If you think I’m going to get naked again, think again,” she snapped. “I won’t be mocked. Not by anyone and not especially by you.”

“When did I mock you?” Jaime sounded exasperated.

“Jaime, just get on with the scene, will you? You’re wasting time.”

“You’re wasting time, wench. I’m working my ass off but the tension you won’t shake off is so thick it can be cut with a knife.”

“Are you kidding me?” Brienne was surprised. “I’m responsible for this so-called tension?”

Jaime smiled innocently. “Maybe you should take a few minutes off like I did.”

“Fuck you.”

He flexed his left hand. “I can definitely give you a hand.”

“It’s not fucking funny.”

“Oh, come on, sweetling.” Jaime told her, his voice dropping to a lower register that, to her shock, had her cunt swelling. “I’m just looking out for you.”

“Stop it. I will walk away from this movie, Jaime. I don’t care about the lawsuit. You have more riding on this than I do.”

“I’m not the one who went to the godsforsaken Eastwatch looking for me, wench.”

She stuck her chin out. “I’m having regrets. I should have let them nail your skinny ass.”

“This is the second time you mentioned the state of my ass.” Jaime turned, popping his hip and giving it a pat. “It’s quite firm, actually. But I suppose skinny is better than fat, isn’t it? Yours—”

Brienne turned and marched out of the room. Before she made it halfway down the hall, Jaime’s hand was on her wrist and turning her around. She slapped his hand away and shot him a look so murderous he took a step back. It was clear he’d crossed the line.

Any woman would be pleased having someone as handsome as Jaime Lannister chasing them. With her, it was the real deal, Jaime Lannister, naked, chasing her. But she was unlike a lot of women.

The look on Jaime’s face told he barely missed a landmine. Brienne waited for him to smile, tell her he had been joking and meant nothing. Apologies were never for someone like her. She was ugly and had to be mocked. She deserved no apology.

“I’m sorry.”

Taken aback, she flinched. _What did he say?_

“That was. . .there’s no excuse. I meant no harm by it but that’s not what happened at all, is it? I’m sorry. I apologize for hurting you.”

In her job, she couldn’t be vulnerable. She couldn’t be hurt. She retorted, “You don’t matter enough to hurt me, Jaime.”

She would love nothing more than to take pleasure at the surprise and hurt on his face. But she learned a long time ago never to let her emotions known. She wasn’t very skilled but when she gave it a hard try, she did it.

“However,” she continued formally, “I accept the apology. I know it’s not easy for the likes of you.” She couldn’t resist making that last dig. He deserved it.

Yep. She was right to twist the knife a little more. She brushed past him and went back to the room. Behind the camera she went, ready to work. Defiance remained on her face until his return. Jaime stood by the doorway.

“Let’s get to work, shall we?” She said.

“Sure.”

To prove that his words were useless pings on her flesh, her heart, Brienne surprised him once again by removing her t-shirt. Jaime’s eyes came close to popping out of their sockets as she undressed with business-like rapidity, shucking off her clothes as if stripping before an audience was a regular occurrence. She stood back and stared at Jaime, daring him to cut her down.

They stood across from each other, nearly alike in build except for the obvious differences, and her pale skin splashed wildly with freckles. As their eyes mapped the topography of each other’s bodies, she felt the tension Jaime claimed was present. Her expression was stoic except for the fire in her eyes, sharp and piercing. Even in thought she refused to yield. His expression remained blank but his elegant nostrils were flaring. His shoulders were tight, as if he was bracing himself for a blow.

She didn’t have to look directly at it to know what was happening again. She could tell. He was breathing faster, his fists curled tightly. _It has nothing to do with you._

She prided herself in getting a better handle of her emotions. It had been so long since the last time she had sex. Put her in a room with a man like Jaime, with his handsome face and muscular, perfect body, and it didn’t matter how much of an asshole he was. Her body was responding to his presence, the vision of him, in the tightness of her nipples, the growing hot ache in her cunt. With one last look at Jaime, she went behind the camera and called action.

To her surprise, Jaime gave her a defiant look too and went through the scene.

It took three takes for Jaime to nail every expectation demanded of him. Yet he wasn’t satisfied and insisted on a few more takes, just to be sure and for Brienne to have choices when editing. She agreed, though she felt it wasn’t necessary. She got the perfect shot. But actors who insisted on hitting all the emotional beats again, just to make sure, were rare so, grudgingly, she could appreciate that in Jaime.

She panned the camera up and around his body, already imagining how the scene would look in the edit. Every frame would be a testament to the character’s cunning and strength too, then going wide as his humanity was slowly exposed. Brienne’s heart was racing, knowing it was in her hands, for the audience to see the character without a hand and not Jaime Lannister. The camera lingered on his face as he slowly removed the prosthetic hand. 

Finally, she called it a wrap. She stepped away from the camera, relief now on her face. Jaime let out a breath and for the first time gave her a genuine, warm smile. Hesitantly, she smiled back before looking away to start putting her clothes back on.

Jaime pulled on his robe and belted it loosely. He watched her back muscles flex and stretch as she raised her arms to put on her t-shirt. His chest rose high as he watched her tits gently swing up slipping her arms up in the shirt.

“Listen, wench. We have to celebrate,” he said, tightening the knot of his robe as she glanced at him over her shoulder.

“Celebrate,” she mused, putting on her panties. Half-dressed, she faced him. It seemed strange to see him covered now. She blinked and wearily picked up her socks from the floor. She sat on the bed, crossing her legs to put them on. “You want with the crew and the other actors?”

“Fuck them. We’ve bonded in the last few days, wench.”

“So?”

He winked at her. “We haven’t killed each other. Though we came pretty close a few times. That’s something worth celebrating, isn’t it? Unless,” and she noticed a strange expression on his face. Was it uncertainty? Jaime shrugged, suddenly nonchalant as he added, “you already have plans.”

She shrugged too. “Well, there’s a bathtub I intend to be in for the night when I get home.”

“You don’t want to have a meal first? It’s my treat.”

She had to laugh. “Jaime, as you said, we’ve bonded. But don’t you think it’s time we take a break from each other?”

He huffed. “Wench, if you don’t want to, just give it to me straight, will you? Tell me no and I’ll get off your ass.”

He sounded really miffed. _Ridiculous._ Jaime Lannister never cared for what people thought of him. “I’m not saying no. I’m just questioning the wisdom of you and me again. Just you and me. Again.”

“Oh, so you you’ll flash your pussy at me but I’m not worthy enough as a dining companion?”

“I wasn’t the one with some action going on down there,” she pointed out, standing up to put on her pants.

“How many times do I have to educate you on penises, wench?”

“You think you can give me lessons? Fuck, don’t answer that,” she snapped when Jaime suddenly grinned way too angelically. The man was too hazardous for a woman’s mental health. “Fine. Let’s go grab a bite somewhere. But we can’t leave the equipment behind. We’ll have to wait for the guys to pick them up.”

“No problem. I’d like to take a nap in the meantime.”

Brienne laughed. “Go ahead. Old man.”

“Old man, indeed,” he said, shaking his head as he left the room.

The WesterVision guys arrived thirty minutes after calling them. Brienne directed them in the dismantling of the camera and the lights. Pod, who came with them, was given a copy of raw footage of today’s scenes for safekeeping. She kept another copy with her just in case.

 Jaime had not crashed in one of the opulent suites. Instead, he returned to his dressing room and settled on the bed there. She shook him gently on the shoulder. It wasn’t fair that even in sleep and his mouth hanging open, Jaime Lannister still looked like a god. He grunted and rubbed his eyes before opening them.

“Wench,” he muttered. In his soft, vulnerable state, it was tempting to run her fingers through his hair and take a whiff of his neck. Brienne frowned at the direction of her thoughts and quickly turned away. She put on her black leather jacket.

“Let’s go. The nearest diner is an hour from here.”

He frowned. “We’re going to a diner?”

She rolled her eyes. “It won’t kill you to eat something highly-processed and fatty, Jaime.”

He sat up, rubbing his eyes again. One side of his hair was flat and other was tousled. “I thought we could go somewhere nice.”

“This isn’t a date. It’s a meal between two people who have, as you said, bonded. I could murder a cheeseburger and onion rings. Come on.”

“You’re right. This ain’t a fucking date,” Jaime said as he got up and stretched. How tired was he? Brienne wondered, realizing for the first time that shooting that one scene must have been grueling for him.

“If this were a date, you won’t be anywhere near onions at all,” he added.

They got in Brienne’s SUV. Jaime told her that he’ll have his limo pick him up from the diner when they’re done. As she drove down the road, she turned on the radio, looking for the station that played classic metal rock music. Jaime chuckled as he settled comfortably on the seat.

Eyes on the road, Brienne growled, “What?”

Jaime turned up the music, still chuckling. “I like this station too. And the song.”

She listened to the first bars. “It’s The Long Night by Night’s Watch. It’s an okay song. I like Night Queen better.”

“This was the song playing the first time I fucked a girl.”

“’I didn’t need to know that.” Brienne muttered, blushing.

“Melara Hetherspoon,” Jaime drawled, deliberately ignoring her. “Brown hair. Nice, really big tits for a fifteen-year-old. I didn’t last long because of those tits.”

“Oh, and it’s not because, I don’t know, it’s your first time?”

“How old were you when you first fucked a guy?” Jaime asked her.

“Jaime, if this is the kind of bonding waiting for me at dinner, I won’t hesitate to drop you off at the roadside and to hell with you.” She was beginning to sweat despite the air conditioning.

“Come on, Tarth. What’s the big deal? You can tell me.” He wheedled her.

“It’s personal.”

“I told you about Melara!”

“I didn’t ask you!”

“Alright. Let’s start with something easier. Who was your first kiss? How old were you? Was there tongue?”

“Really, Jaime?”

“I thought it’s because you’re really pale why it’s easy to blush but you’re like one of those demure, proper women of old, aren’t you? The kind who sits with perfect posture, never spills her tea, stiff collars, but actually hotter than sin under your petticoats?”

Brienne shifted to fourth gear as they approached the highway. “You watch way too much porn, Jaime.”

“I like the red panties, by the way.”

“I like quiet when driving.” Brienne reached down to kill the radio, plunging the car to a sudden silence.

“Melara blew me a few times before we did it, you know. She’d blow me, I’d have a go at her tits, finger her. We shared a joint before fucking the first time because we were both freaking out.”

“Jaime, I really don’t want to hear anything about your first time. You’re almost forty and you’re talking about fucking a fifteen-year-old. It’s creepy.”

Jaime made a face. “Kill my buzz, why don’t you?”

Brienne grunted, “I didn’t start the conversation.”

He fidgeted in his seat “So, how old were you?”

“Jaime.” She warned.

“I won’t stop until you give me something.”

“I won’t hesitate to kick you out of the car.”

“You’re going to dump a one-handed man in the middle of nowhere?”

“Boy, when it suits you you’ll lay it on thick, won’t you?”

Knowing he was winning, he laughed. “Come on, wench. Someone got between those long legs first and lived to tell the tale.”

Brienne rolled her eyes before taking the exit to the next town. Alright. Since he wanted to go there.

“Don’t judge,” she said.

Jaime held up his hand and stump. “I won’t.”

“No, I mean it, Jaime. No judging. I don’t hear want to hear any smart or crass comment from you.”

“I give you my word,” he said solemnly.

She guided the car through the town, driving past shops and stores. “Twenty-five.”

“Twenty-five what?” Jaime demanded. Because she couldn’t stop the blush overtaking her face, he soon figured it out. “Mother of the Seven. You were twenty-fucking-five?”

“I think it’s a lot more alarming to be a minor to fuck for the first time!” Brienne said defensively, giving him a warning glance.

“But surely you tried before?”

“I’m not giving any more details,” she muttered.

“You tried?”

“Jaime, come on!”

She found a sign for the diner. At only five miles away, she was soon pulling over its parking lot. It was only late in the afternoon so the after-work and dinner crowd won’t be coming by for a few hours. She guided the car to a spot near the end of the lot.

“Look, you couldn’t have hit twenty-five without getting at least fondled,” Jaime said as they left the car. He ignored her warning glare. “And some guys like small tits.”

“Why is my sexual history fascinating to you all of a sudden?” Brienne demanded as she they walked toward the diner. “There’s nothing there, Jaime. You only have to look at me to know.”

He gazed at her, taking in the top of her hair, lingering on her eyes, then taking his time looking at the rest of her. He only looked away to get the door for her.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he said as they went to a booth at the corner.

“Please. What, suddenly you’re nice?” Brienne scoffed as they sat down.

Before Jaime could speak, a waitress approached them, armed with menus and her pad. But Brienne already knew what she wanted, and it got a grin from the younger woman as she noted it. Jaime, who suddenly looked thoughtful, said, “I’ll have what she’s having but with fries instead of onion rings.”

“Drinks?”

“I’d like warm water with a wedge of lemon in it, if possible,” Brienne added.

“Sure thing.” The waitress beamed at Jaime. “And you, handsome?”

“I’ll have a rootbeer. Oh, I see you have pies. What do you recommend?”

“Our strawberry cream is a favorite.”

“A slice please.”

The waitress repeated their order, smiled at them again then left.

The diner only had three other customers besides them, and they were sitting at the bar. Brienne pulled off her jacket, frowning when she saw Jaime staring at her. “What now?”

“I’m not the greatest person around,” he said. “But I want you to know that I’m not. . .look, I’m not mean, alright? And there’s no excuse with what I said before but. . .I really am sorry.”

Brienne didn’t know what to make of this about-face. As far as she knew, Jaime treated everyone else like servants at his beck and call. He never gave consideration for anyone’s feelings. But here he was now, sitting less than five feet away from her and actually looking contrite. Really contrite.

That or he was pulling one hell of a masterful performance. Actors were just overpaid liars, after all. And Jaime was finest of his generation.

But Brienne was hardened from years of abuse, misogyny and sexism. She stared at him warily.

“Why are you apologizing?”

“Because I was a fucking asshole?”

“Yeah. But what do you want to come out of it? See,” she continued, stacking her elbows on the table and leaning forward. “You’ve been in this business longer, Jaime. Nothing happens without an agenda in mind. Why don’t you tell me what is it you really want?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Please. I can smell bullshit from a mile away, Jaime. Let’s just get on with it, alright? Because I fucking hate it when people sweeten me up and I fall for it. I know how this town works. I would rather you respect me enough to realize that and dispense with this apology with the puppy dog eyes.”

Jaime looked shocked.

Brienne sat back. “I was right.”

“No, you’re not. I’m just. . .fuck. And I thought I was the cynic.”

She crossed her arms, looking at him expectantly. He shook his head at her.

“I apologized because I really am sorry, wench. And as I said before, there’s no excuse for my behavior and for the things I said. I’m apologizing not because I want to soften you up or want something from you. I don’t believe in bullshit, either. You have my word that if I want something, you’ll know. Right on.” He spread his arms. “I’m with you right this moment because I want to have a meal with someone I hope will become a friend.”

The waitress arrived with their order, cheerfully announcing which food goes to whom. Brienne muttered her thanks while Jaime gave her a friendly smile. She smiled back and walked away, giving an extra sway to her hips.

Jaime raised his glass of rootbeer. “What do you say, wench? Is this the beginning of a beautiful friendship?”

Brienne stared at him. Part of her was still very suspicious. Another part wanted to believe that he was sincere.

And if she thought about it, Jaime had not given her any reason to doubt him. He’d called her ugly to her face. Told her outright he didn’t get the hard-on because of her. There was no moment when Jaime wasn’t directly, brutally, and at times cruelly, honest.

“Wench, I only have one hand here.”

She flushed and raised her cup. They clinked together and took sips. Then they started eating.

Jaime was more skilled at conversation than her. He asked her about the movies she had done, the challenges she had faced. Brienne hated her blush after he told her that he enjoyed _The Last Bear of Winter._  She tried to hide her burning cheeks by stuffing her face with onion rings. He watched her fumble and flush, amused.

“You have to be better at accepting compliments, wench.”

“You would know how,” she said. “I’d bet you’ve never been insulted in your life.”

Jaime snorted. “Until you.”

She had to smile. “It’s nice to be someone’s first for a change.”

His grin was absolutely predatory and she squirmed, realizing what she’d just done. “Speaking of firsts, wench—”

“Fuck, Jaime, are we back to that? I don’t want to talk about my sex life or yours, or sex! Come on.”

“You know, it’s very intriguing that someone who got naked without the promise of sex earlier, or even money, is very prudish about sex.”

“Oh, so what, it’s all absolutes with you? One has to be comfortable talking about sex to do what I did?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Dumb.”

“Really. Alright, wench.” Jaime took a big bite of his burger. “Educate me.”

“It’s not an extensive lesson or anything. I know how my body is. I’ve made my peace with it. It’s functional.”

He looked puzzled. Brienne explained further.

“You needed to be comfortable and that wasn’t going to happen if there’s an uneven distribution of power. This is only with you. You needed to know we’re equals. Hence, why I stripped. My body got the job done.” She took a bite of an onion ring and cocked her eyebrow.

“You don’t think your body is just functional, do you?”

“You saw it. You said it yourself earlier. You didn’t get hard looking at me. No, no. I’m not taking it against you,” she clarified quickly when Jaime was about to protest. “Jaime, I know. I know how my body is. It’s not the kind guys dream about. Or what women want to have. Because I’ll never be an object of sexual desire, as women are primarily still seen to this day, I had to find other ways of seeing myself. My body gets the job done.”

Jaime shifted in his seat. “Look, wench, I admire your. . .um, work ethic, or whatever you call it. But. . .you don’t see your body as just that, do you, really? I mean. . .you’ve had sex. You’ve been desired.”

She shrugged. “It’s not something I like to think about.”

Jaime pushed the plate of strawberry cream pie between them and gestured she take the first bite. Brienne had to smile and happily forked herself a piece.

“Brienne. . .I don’t know what’s happened to you to think like that but, I don’t know. I wish you see yourself as more than. . .serving a function. Take it from someone who’s. . .never going to be one hundred percent again.”

“What are you talking about?”

Jaime gave her an exasperated look and held up his stump. “Hello?”

At that moment, the waitress returned to their table. “I just want to check on you folks—oh, holy shit, honey. You lost your hand?”

Brienne glared at her while Jaime quickly lowered his hand back under the table. The clueless woman yammered on.

“Terrible, terrible thing, honey. And you’re so handsome---say, aren’t you that actor?”

Jaime grimaced. “Uh—”

“Yeah, you are. I know you. I saw you in that movie. A bird movie, I think?”

Jaime said stiffly, “I’ve never been in a bird movie, ma’am.”

“Oh, please! Listen, I won’t tell if you’ll, uh, sign this.” Brienne’s mouth dropped open at the woman’s gall as she pulled out her pad from the pocket of her apron. “What do you mean you’ve never been in that movie? I remember it now. _Mockingbird_.”

Brienne covered her mouth while Jaime looked at the woman as if she had just figured out that one and one together make two.

Jaime was never in _Mockingbird_ but Petyr Baelish. The two men didn’t look alike in any way. But they were rivals in the early days of their career.

“Uh, ma’am, actually—” Brienne tried to say but Jaime put on a false smile.

“You got me. And I would appreciate your discretion,” he said. “You’ll have to forgive my handwriting, though. I mean—”

“That is seriously okay. I really wish I had one of those camera phones, you know? But a signature is fine.” The waitress said. “Could you make it out to Bernadette?”

 

 

Ten minutes later, Jaime and Brienne couldn’t get out of the diner fast enough. The door closed behind them and they looked at each other. They were flushed, Brienne more, from the effort of restraining their laughter.

And they’ve reached the limit.

Jaime was the first to break, throwing his head back and laughing uproariously at the darkening sky. Brienne gripped her arms to her sides as wheezing, motorboat sounds drifted from her. They were laughing so loudly that the customers piling in the place looked at them curiously. Jaime flung an arm around Brienne’s shoulders and together, they headed back to the car.

Brienne wiped the tears from her eyes as she unlocked the door. Still gasping, she said, “I’m not fucking fit to drive.”

“I didn’t think anyone could be that stupid!” Jaime roared, sending a fresh peal of laughter in the air. Brienne too burst out laughing again.

Somehow, they managed to plant themselves on the front seats. Their bodies continued to shake, the flush on their faces deepened. Brienne leaned heavily on the steering wheel while Jaime sat back. As their laughter subsided, the tremors from their bodies eased. Brienne sat up, resting against the seat. Jaime smiled at her.

He really did have a nice smile. Big-ass dimples you can put things in.

He was the most handsome man she had ever seen.

Objectively speaking.

Jaime was looking at her too. Brienne had never been comfortable being stared at or being under any kind of scrutiny. When his hand touched her cheek, however, she rubbed against his palm. Gods, she even purred.

Then she dived toward Jaime.

Jaime opened his arms. _He opened his arms._

They kissed.

The force of her body had him plastered against the window, arms flailing to hold her securely to his chest. Half his ass was on the seat. The other was in the air. The shift dug between Brienne’s thighs. But the precariousness of their position was no hindrance to the meeting of their mouths. Lips brushed together in a soft, hesitant dance, their heads turning from side to side until Jaime pressed his stump against her cheek and kept her at an angle that they both liked. Tongues sought each other. He tasted of grilled meat and ketchup, too-sweet rootbeer.

She kissed him deeper.

She turned, sliding the sleeve of his jacket down his arm to reveal his stump. As Jaime pressed hot kisses down her cheek, around the shell of her ear, followed by the thrust of his tongue that had her entire body tingling, she poured kisses on his scarred flesh. Her thick lips pressed fully on the soft, puckered skin. She gave it a little, playful bite before resuming the little kisses that had Jaime grunting and pushing his hips against her. Then his one hand grabbed at her hair, urging her back to him so he could plunge his tongue in her mouth.

It seemed they couldn’t fuse their mouths hard enough, couldn’t fuck each other’s mouth with tongue deeply enough. The console, the limited space of the front. The tip of Jaime’s nose was red so Brienne kissed it as consolingly as she could—if she leaned any more, he was going to fall off the seat. So, as hard as it was, she disentangled herself from his arms.

Sure enough, Jaime protested. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Brienne pointed awkwardly at the backseat.

“Oh.”

As Brienne left the car, Jaime, showing that he was capable of inelegance, simply climbed over seats. He was lying flat on his back when she opened the door. They grinned at each other then he opened his arms again. She eagerly leaped toward him. His pained grunt at her knee landing on his ribs was lost in their kiss.

Gods, she had never felt like this before. The need to. . .consume, to be with Jaime, was overwhelming and strange. Every kiss fed the flame to this desire. She cupped his face in her large palms as Jaime, with his hand and stump, caressed her under her t-shirt. Her jacket was in the way so she quickly got rid of that. The t-shirt too.

Jaime sat up, caught her by the middle of her back and kissed her tits, her nipples. _Fuck._ His lips were warm and greedy sucking on the plump nubs. Men hardly paid attention to them during foreplay, let alone during sex. There wasn’t much to grab. But Jaime. _Oh, Jaime._ He sucked and bit her nipples with. . .well, glee. She rocked against his knee, rubbing her aching cunt against him.

“Seven Hells,” he groaned, looking up at her. “Fuck, wench. So fucking good.”

“It gets better,” she whispered, taking his mouth in her lips. As they kissed, she felt for his zipper and tugged the tab down. Her fingertips found springy pubic curls. Jaime cursed against her tongue as she scooped him out of his pants.

“W-Wait. Wench—” but she kissed him again, pushing her tongue in his mouth as her fingers wrapped around his cock and rubbed him.

Jaime was grunting. Growling. With every breath he managed to take, his cock hardened and warmed in her hand. _By the Seven, the man was huge._ She moaned wondering what it would be like to take him in her mouth, feeling him fucking her throat and flooding it with his cum. Her hand sped up.

“Wench—” Jaime snatched his lips from her, shaking his head. “Brienne, fuck. Wait. I—make it—last— _fuck_ ,” he groaned.

Brienne gasped too, feeling the spurt from his cock fill her hand. Amazed, she watched her hand rubbing him furiously, milking his cock dry. Jaime’s hips pummeled against her, his grunts and harsh whimpers bathing her cheek. Her grip didn’t falter until he exhaled loudly and collapsed on the backseat. Brienne, blushing, wiped her hand on her jeans.

“Wench,” Jaime’s voice was ragged. He looked well-satisfied but annoyed. “I wanted to fuck you, not come in your hand.”

“S-Sorry,” she stammered, realizing now that he tried stopping her.

“Don’t be. I’m just. . .well, I really want to fuck you.” Jaime looked at his half-erect cock. “But I’m not willing to wait.” His teeth flashed in the dark.

“Huh?”

Jaime smirked and suddenly rose on his knees, dislodging her. Brienne grabbed for the door with one hand and the other gripped the leather of the driver’s seat. She watched with growing disbelief as Jaime unzipped her boots and tossed them to the front seat. Her pants and panties followed next, yanked down her legs in one swoop, with his one hand and stump. Brienne was blushing violently and panting by then, realizing that she was buck-naked in her SUV while Jaime only had his pants dragged down to his hips.

He drew one leg over his shoulder, grinned at her then shoved his tongue in her cunt.

_“Jaime!”_

Never—she never had anything like this happen to her. As his tongue slid up and down her slit, tasting the sensitive flesh surrounding her clit, she grunted, hips lurching sharply. She felt on fire, and his wicked tongue was stoking her.

His tongue swept up and down, from side to side. The pace was languid for a few seconds before he fucked her, firm, wet thrusts inside her passage. His stump kept her leg far apart from the other, leaving her open and exposed to his lips and tongue. Gods, this was really happening. It was really happening _to her._

Jaime caught  the soft flesh of her outer labia between his lips and sucked it, did the same to the other before his tongue was stroking up and down her cunt again, the tip lingering on the nerve-packed area where her clit was attached. Brienne was gasping, sobbing, feeling her clit thrust and firm like a button, getting redder and plumper as Jaime lavished licks and kisses all over her cunt except for _this._ She would give her life for him to even just flick his tongue there. She really would.

“Jaime,” she sobbed, not knowing how else to say what she wanted.

He seemed to understand because he wrapped his lips around her clit and sucked.

_“Jaime!”_

Fuck, this was. . .no, nothing would ever be like this. There was nothing that could describe this feeling. It was everything and too much, the impossible and the unimaginable. She chanted his name, her hips thrusting against his chin as his lips clamped around her clit firmly, possessively. As he unraveled her, his fingers took an experimental dip in her cunt before plunging in.

This was how it was to be _fucked._

_“Oh, gods! Jaime!”_

She was going to die. She was going to die if he didn’t stop. Whining, she tried to turn, fought to close her legs. She pulled at his hair. Her lips managed to open, her voice, strained and weak, followed. But instead of saying stop, she begged for more.

And more.

 _“Jaime. Jaime. Jaime.”_ Her eyes closed as she thrashed under him. She was insane to want this to stop. At this moment, she would willingly walk away from everything if it meant being on her backside with her legs spread wide and Jaime’s tongue and fingers fucking her for eternity. No question about it. If she was going to be destroyed, she couldn’t think of a better way.

“Please,” she begged, her eyes fluttering open briefly. Her glazed stare found his emeralds on her, dark and brilliant at the same time. _“Jaime, please.”_

A moment later, she flew to a sea of green.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY, A FRICKIN' UPDATE!
> 
> So, what do you think?
> 
> I didn't expect the chapter to be this long. If it's just me, JB would just bang in every chapter and that will make us happy, right? I know I would be. But there are things to air out between them, issues to acknowledge and hopefully fix. As it sometimes goes with writing, this was not easy to write. At all. I'm not just talking about the length but at the events that happened here.
> 
> I hope that despite the length, you enjoyed reading this latest update. Hopefully, writing the rest would be slightly easier after this. What about for our favorite couple? Well. . .:-)
> 
> Thank you for reading and for being so patient! 
> 
> ******
> 
> The big twist in the movie is Jaime is a feared mob boss who orders the right hand of his enemies cut so they'd never forget the price of betraying him. His hands are always covered in gloves in all his scenes except for this one. By revealing to the audience that his right hand is a prosthetic, they will realize that he got to the top by betraying others too. The scene would show him vulnerable because he realizes the precariousness of his position on top. It's basically a game of who can commit the better, or maybe worse betrayal to succeed. So far he's winning but for how long?


	6. Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Confessions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter begins two months after the events in Chapter 5.

Jaime stifled a yawn. Fucking Seven Hells but it demanded every ounce of talent he had to be at least somewhat interested in Taena Merryweather. He forced a smile, nodding as nonsense spilled from her lush, ruby lips. Coffee was the best thing man had ever invented. He had never been more grateful in his life for it, he thought as he sipped halfway down his cup before looking at Taena again.

This was all Tyrion’s fucking fault. His little brother was only doing his job but did he really have to set up Jaime with this woman? True, for most men, sitting next to an exquisite creature was hardly a job. He also had her permission to put his hand all over her curvy body, as shown in the hundreds of paparazzi shots splashed in the tabloids and gossip rags since they were spotted attending a Weirdwood luncheon ‘together.’It was Tyrion’s idea to introduce him to Taena, currently the goddess of the fashion runway in Westeros and Essos. Aside from getting Jaime the right girl, Tyrion was also working overtime generating buzz ove _r Kingslayer_ and trying to get him his next film projects.

He met some success. Jaime would be having a season-long arc as a special guest star in _Maesters' Anatomy_ , a popular and critically-acclaimed medical drama in Westeros. He was also the new face of Mott Fragrance for Men. Jaime’s name was also in the shortlist of an in-the-works movie that would hopefully launch the superhero franchise of Weirdwood. Tyrion wanted him to star in it. Jaime was more interested in smaller but meatier supporting roles. Tyrion couldn’t understand why when he was the lead in _Kingslayer._

Jaime still had ambivalent feelings about being in front of the camera again. At his desk at home was a growing pile of scripts that he had classified as ‘shit’ and ‘shittier.’ There was nothing compelling or even remotely interesting in them. Tyrion was panicking over another long hiatus, hence his decision to keep Jaime in the spotlight with a hot, model girlfriend.

He and Taena were not even really together. She was there to keep his name in the media. He was with her because she wanted to break into the movies next. Jaime just wished they didn’t have to be photographed, in so-called romantic poses at that, just to keep them in everyone’s minds. Half the time Tyrion called the paps on them. Sometimes it was Taena’s agent.

At the moment, they were in a café, sitting by the window, of course, eating avocado toast. Well, Jaime was trying to swallow it while it was a prop for Taena. It came on a dark bread but it wasn’t her day to have any carbs. Jaime barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes at wasted food when there were people starving. This was why he never enjoyed dating models and actresses. If they weren’t freaking out over gaining three pounds, they didn’t eat.

Taena beamed at him. She was a beauty, really. Thick, wavy black hair, round, dark eyes. Her skin was smooth and translucent. She was sexy, with real, full tits, a small waist and long, slender legs. No matter the weather, she never wore anything below the knee. Right now, her short, black coat was draped on the back of her chair. She was wearing a long-sleeved black midriff and a matching mini-skirt. She wore fur-lined ankle boots.

Jaime missed t-shirts and jeans on a woman.

Taena winked at him. Her eyes tilted up slightly at the corners, giving her an exotic, cat-eyed look. Jaime appreciated it when women made the time to put on make-up and look nicer than usual but winged eyeliner before nine in the morning was a little too much.

_Brienne doesn’t wear make-up._

He called a waiter over to ask for the check. Taena continued to smile and talk, too happy to just ramble on and not realize he hadn’t contributed anything in the last hour except for a few nods and a smile. Just as well. He was never in the mood to engage Taena in conversation. Any hope of making their pretend relationship real died when, asking her what preoccupied her mind when she wasn’t working, she revealed being obsessed with an app that tracked her calories throughout the day and recommended the changes she should make in her diet to keep her weight or lose a few more pounds.

Jaime put his arm around her waist as they left the restaurant, quickly keeping his head down as the paparazzi started taking photos of them, the glare from their cameras blinding even in the sunlight. While Taena threw them smiles and playful pouts, Jaime urged her to hurry down the street.

“Relax, Jaime,” Taena’s sultry voice was in his ear. She was close to his height in her shoes. “It won’t kill you to look happy when you’re with me.”

“Sorry about that. I’m not a morning person, that’s all,” he told her, hoping he at least sounded apologetic.

“I’ve noticed. And you’re really quiet.” Taena said. “You need to relax, Jaime. You know,” and  she suddenly leaned close, pinning Jaime against the wall of a building. He tried not to make a face at her show of slight aggressiveness. Her dark eyes bored into his, her pouty lips curved in a sly smile. “We should fuck.”

“We should fuck,” he echoed lamely.

“We’re pretending to be together, anyway. And we like each other, don’t we? So, why not?”

Jaime stared at her. Every word in those sentences made sense. Taken as a whole, he couldn’t grasp it.

Thinking of sex took his mind back to the parking lot of that diner. Brienne was a fucking wildcat as she came, crying out and surrendering her body completely to her release. She was magnificent to watch, seeing her so abandoned like that. Her eyes showed her surprise too and it was sexy and sweet at the same time. It made Jaime want to slide his tongue inside her cunt again. Fuck, he wanted to have as many rounds with her as possible.

He lay over Brienne, counting with his eyes the freckles on her nose and cheeks, unable to look away from the vivid blueness of her gaze in the darkness. Cast in moonlight and the garish, orange glow from the diner’s sign, she was almost beautiful. The lights did not soften her but emphasized the strength of her arms, her lean torso. He so wanted another go, to sink his cock inside her this time.

She was looking at him, panting against his lips when he saw it happen. The cool, stoic woman he knew gradually returning. All that was left of the woman who shattered in his arms mere moments ago was in her ocean eyes and she wouldn’t look at him anymore. Was she embarrassed? Did she hate herself? He never knew. Brienne put her clothes back on then climbed back in the driver’s side. Jaime righted his clothes and returned to his seat, confused.

He debated about calling her the next day, and the day after that. He didn’t tell Tyrion, not because he was embarrassed about fucking Brienne, but because something had happened to him that night. He couldn’t describe it well, only that there was a shift and nothing was ever the same.

A week passed. Finally, he caved and sent her flowers. Winter roses. They were the color of her eyes when she came in his arms. The last time he sent flowers to a girl was. . .never.

Her reply came a day later. Or at least, a reply with Brienne’s signature. It was an elegant, white card with the bullshit note about looking forward to working with him again. Jaime threw it in the trash, wanting to kick himself. Did he really think she felt the same? That just because he had tasted her she wanted to see him again?

Jaime resolved to fix that by vowing to fuck the next piece of hot ass that came along. Enter Taena.

But he and Taena had never fucked. As beautiful and as sexy as she was, he didn’t feel any urge to fuck her. Jaime stared back at her, praying for the familiar stirring of his cock. She was pressed tightly against him, warm, full, female and smelling so fucking good.

“Think about it,” Taena whispered, suddenly licking his lower lip. Jaime froze as her tongue touched him. They’ve kissed before. Taena was a decent kisser but he wanted shy, awkward kisses. He wanted lots of fumbling and blushing cheeks. _Fuck Brienne Tarth. The wench exercised some sorcery to fuck me up like this,_ he thought, closing his eyes and forcing himself to kiss Taena back.

She made a pleased, husky sound and Jaime waited for the familiar hardening in his pants. There was none. Not even the slightest heat of desire. Instead, he was trying not to pull away from the taste of Taena’s lipstick. He thought about being photographed by the paparazzi. It sobered him enough to pull away and catch his breath.

“Come home with me,” Taena whispered, putting his arms around her waist. “They want us to fuck. I want to fuck you. You think about fucking me.” Her breasts brushed against his chest.

Jaime would refute her last point but he was past caring. He should stop thinking about the wench. It had been two months and after that fucking generic card, he never heard from her again. But he couldn’t entirely blame her. He hated himself for having all these hopes and expectations. Even if he did not yet understand what they were.

But this he knew: he was an actor and if he wanted good roles to come his way, he was going to have to remain on the radar, no matter what. This is all he should think about, not giant, sapphire-eyed wenches who left you hanging in the worst possible way.

He must have nodded because Taena laughed in his ear and took his left hand. Pulling him behind her, her slim arm raised in a graceful wave to hail a cab.

Taena kept an apartment in the city. Jaime had been there a few times, under the pretense of sleeping with her so the paps could take their shot. He would sneak out a few hours later from a back exit and dive in his waiting limousine.

His heart throbbed heavily in his chest and he was seeing spots. Taena rubbed his knee, the sensation more annoying than arousing. Yet Jaime didn’t say anything as the cab pulled up in front of her building. He once again let her take him by the hand and bring him to her place.

The old Jaime Lannister never saw one woman at a time. It was always several women, and if they were willing, fucked them at the same time too. He enjoyed women and fucking. Nothing aroused him faster than a beautiful woman so eager to take him between her legs, her eyes bright with carnal anticipation at being fucked by someone as famous as he was, not to mention so fucking handsome. Jaime tried to channel that as Taena’s lips returned to him once they were inside her apartment.

He felt her shrug off her coat before pulling him one step, one kiss at a time deeper in her place. Jaime removed his coat too. They fell on the bed, Taena smiling smugly up at Jaime.

She really was beautiful. Soft, dark with natural waves, black eyes, lips that promised hot kisses. She suddenly crossed her arms to pull off her sweater so he sat back. A black, lace bra cupped her full breasts. Still smiling at him, she reached behind her to unclasp it. She had nice tits.

Taena crooked her finger at him then lay back on the bed, arms raised over her head in submission.

Jaime felt his cock twitch ever so slightly.

_We’re back in business._

He lowered himself over Taena, taking her lips in a soft, lingering kiss that made her moan. He kissed her neck. His hand cupped one of her full breasts and squeezed. His right arm raised toward her face to clumsily brush her hair from her cheek. He willed himself to float on the cloud of her exotic perfume but couldn’t forget how it felt to bury his nose in a neck smelling cleanly of soap, of rough hair tickling his cheek, the tip of his nose.

His stump lay beside Taena’s head. She stared at it and he felt her tense. Jaime held his breath, not knowing what to expect.

He should retract his arm but if he and Taena were going to do this, she had to deal with his stump. He felt a tingle in his wrist, remembering the warmth of Brienne’s lips caressing the scarred, puckered skin. She kissed him there as if he was still complete.

She touched him and held him, looked at him in the eyes with no pity or fear. Only acceptance.

Taena looked at him and spoke.

“Jaime, um, have you. . .I mean, you’ve never thought of getting a prosthetic?”

 

 

****** 

Brienne had never been so happy to see the moon rise in the sky. She spent half the day cooped up editing _Kingslayer_ with the editor before heading off to lunch with her agent, Jorah Mormont. He made another attempt to warm her up to the idea of directing a romantic comedy, which had her scowling at him over the salad.

The rest of the day was spent on more meetings. She met with Missandei, who was one of her favorite novelists. Brienne was an admirer of her work and professed wanting to direct the film adaptation of one of her books. Next, she was hijacked into having coffee with Gendry Waters, a handsome, ambitious young actor determined to get any role in her upcoming movies. He wanted to do something outside of the behemoth _War Hammer_ franchise, in which he was the titular hero. Meetings with studio execs and representatives of the Women in Weirdwood Entertainment followed. As soon as it began to grow dark, Brienne excused herself, hopped in her SUV and sped home.

Lexi meowed loudly from the sofa as Brienne let herself in. “Hi, baby!” she cooed, picking up the warm, ginger fluffy cat and hugging her. Lexi purred contentedly against her chest as she went to the kitchen, drawn by the shuffling sounds there.

It was Podrick organizing the food purchases he had made for the week. Brienne smiled and thanked him, then said it wasn’t his responsibility to put them in the shelves and the fridge. Podrick flushed and mumbled that he didn’t mind.

“Well, if you have no dinner plans, would you mind joining me?” Brienne asked him. “I was thinking of ordering a huge pizza.” She set Lexi down on the counter.

“Thanks, Brienne. But Sansa and I are going to the movies,” Podrick told her. At Brienne’s surprised expression, he flushed again. “Um, uh, that’s alright, isn’t it? I mean, she’s five years older than me and. . .” his voice trailed off and he looked at her hopefully.

She had to smile. Podrick looked up to her and could be too grateful sometimes. He had a literature degree, useless in these times. He dreamed of writing a novel someday, or a screenplay. Brienne hired him as a personal assistant, partly so he won’t starve, hugely so that he knew what it entailed to write for the screen. He was a trusted employee and she considered him a friend.

“Is that a problem for you?’ Brienne asked as Lexi rubbed against her chin.

Podrick shrugged. “No. Of course not. But. . .I mean, she’s kind of a somebody, isn’t she? What could she see in me?”

Knowing Sansa, Podrick was going to be a fling, nothing more. He didn’t seem smitten by her. Patting him on the shoulder, she said, “Just have fun. Don’t have any expectations. Go with the flow and. . .you might be surprised.”

Podrick left half an hour later. Alone, Brienne went around the house. It was small, originally with three bedrooms but perfect. She loved the woodwork of the walls and the floor, loved that it had the charming appeal of a storybook cottage. The house was over fifty years old but still structurally very good and stable. She was hesitant to introduce some changes but felt that since this was her gift to herself two years ago, then she should go all the way. Thus, expanding the master bedroom to include an en suite bathroom.

Brienne put a bottle of champagne in a bucket of ice, took it with her upstairs and filled up the bath. Baths were one of her few indulgences. She poured aromatic salts and her favorite peach-scented bath cream in the rising pool. Then she poured herself a flute of the bubbly.

She left her clothes on the floor and walked naked to the bathtub. As she did, she saw herself in the mirror. Despite knowing she shouldn’t, she turned anyway to confront her reflection.

Nothing different in her body. Same flat chest, pathetic tits, broad, straight waist, wide but unfeminine hips. Muscles in her arms and legs thanks to regular visits to the gym. Healthy. Nothing to be desired.

_This has nothing to do with you._

Blushing, Brienne dunked herself in the warm, soapy bath.

She rested her head on the porcelain edge of the tub, closing her eyes. It was ridiculous to still feel the things she had been feeling since that night in the diner’s parking lot. Jaime, who had called her ugly and a bunch of other insults since they first met, had looked at her as someone. . _.desirable._

Her chest tight, her fingers fluttered to her nipples, trying to imitate the feel of Jaime’s lips pulling at them gently. He had kissed her with a hunger she only read in trashy romances. Over and over his lips roamed her breasts, caught her nipples. She groaned now, after giving her nipples a rough pull, evoking his hard, sucking kisses.

She felt her cunt swell, even under the warmth of the bath. She bent her legs, trying to control the feeling but the memories wouldn’t be stopped. His emerald eyes brilliant as they watched her shatter, his tongue firm and tasting her, fucking her. His kisses showing her how it was to be a woman in his arms.

It scared her. Control was important to Brienne. In a job where everyday she faced harsher judgment simply for being a woman, she had learned to hide her emotions, to never show the smallest chink in her armor. She remembered the aftermath of her orgasm, her dazed vision slowly zeroing in on the satisfaction on Jaime’s face. That’s what she saw. No smugness. Nothing that would make her regret what just happened. It was her response that scared her. She wanted more. More of Jaime. More of him looking at her as if he wouldn’t change a fucking thing. Those too short minutes were the only time in her life that she felt there was nothing wrong with her. That she was not a freak. She was never ridiculed.

No word passed between them afterward. Brienne was quick to dress, confused, overwhelmed and terrified. She didn’t know if Jaime spoke, if he even said goodbye. She couldn’t sleep for one week, both dreading and hoping he would call. When the winter roses came, there was a strange flutter in her heart. _They remind me of your eyes,_ Jaime had written.

It was the most beautiful message she had ever read. She held the card to her heart. Then she shoved it in her drawer and resolved to forget about it. She had been wounded too many times by pretty messages, had put her heart on the line too many times only to be crushed. When Podrick asked if she wanted to send a thank you note or something to the person behind the winter roses, she just shrugged and told him to take care of it.

It was sad. The flowers were really beautiful and every time she looked at them she remembered the way Jaime had stared at her, how he made her feel. She would stake her name and reputation without a problem. Her heart was another matter. He had turned to her because there was no one else. It had been a while since he fucked a woman. She was a woman, albeit ugly, but her cunt was warm and her tits would do.

Brienne’s hands fell to the sides. She opened her eyes, staring at the soft lights from the ceiling. It was hard convincing her heart that something meaningful to her was nothing for Jaime. She was almost thankful for the rags where Jaime’s photo appeared nearly every day, arm in arm or in a liplock with that famous brunette model. Of course he would be with a person like that. So, she was right to never make a bigger deal out of what happened in her car.

She looked forward to finishing editing _Kingslayer._ With Jaime nearly in every scene, it was a struggle forgetting what happened between them. She was blown away by his acting, a catch in her throat every time his emerald eyes reflected the character’s emotions. She tried focusing on his amazing talent but his eyes made her forget, made her remember. Half the movie was done, at least. And with upcoming work and other events, she was sure to shake off whatever feelings she had, kill those fantasies and longings she should never have entertained in the first place. It was time to close the door.

She sat up long enough to reach for the delicate flute on the table and take a small sip of the delicious wine. There was no need for someone in her life, she thought. She was successful in her chosen career, had a roof over her head, she was in her bath, drinking _her_ champagne. The sensations it awakened from the inside seemed like a dozen kisses all at once. This was as good as it was going to get. And if the buzz for _Kingslayer_ was right, she will win not only Best Director but also Best Picture come awards season. That would make her the first woman in Weirdwood history to win both awards.

Now this was a dream she held on to. It was the dream she could make real. This was why she looked the way she did. If she were like any other woman, would she have achieved what she had? Seen like this, then, she thought, there wasn’t a single thing she would change.

She finished the glass then settled back in the tub.

Work. Work was her life. Telling stories. Being behind the camera and shaping the unfolding of a narrative. It was what she wanted her whole life. _All_ she wanted.

The bath salts and champagne teamed together to make it seem she was floating in the clouds. As a long, relaxed hum flitted from her lips, she heard a soft buzzing sound. Brienne thought nothing of it until she heard it again, longer and more persistent this time.

Somebody was at the door.

Her eyes opened and she glared at the ceiling. “You’ve got to be fucking me.”

With her car parked out front and lights left on at the door, whoever had come to destroy her bath was not going anywhere. Brienne grunted about inconsiderate fuckers—it was already nine-thirty!—as she threw on a robe. She stared longingly at her bath. No matter how quickly she sent off that fucker at the door, it was going to be too cold when she returned. Well. She could order herself pizza. With a defeated groan, she grabbed the bottle of champagne and took it with her downstairs. The buzzer continued.

“Fucking alright already!” She yelled, switching on the lights and nearly tripping on Lexi. As the cat meowed in protest, she went to the door. “Who the fuck are you?”

“It’s me.” Said a voice—the voice that had warmed her dreams for months. Brienne stared at the door in disbelief.

This time, he knocked. “Wench.”

 

 

******

 

Jaime didn’t mask his relief when the door opened. It would be better if the wench was not glaring at him as if she wanted to cut off his one remaining hand but here she was, warm, her blue eyes more beautiful than he remembered, her face still ugly but making his heart beat erratically. He smiled at her, knowing it would deepen her frown. He was right.

He leaned casually against the door frame, realized he was missing a hand on that side and quickly switched. Brienne crossed her arms.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Jaime? And how’d you know where I live?”

“Hello to you too, wench,” he drawled, not taken aback by her rudeness. “Missed me?”

Brienne didn’t budge. “What do you want?”

You, he almost said. Instead, he pretended to shrug casually. “I happened to be just driving by. . . ”

“You once told me that driving is beneath you.”

“Alright. My chauffeur was driving by. . .”

“Where is he?” Brienne tried to peek past his shoulder but save for her car in the driveway, there was no other vehicle.

“I sent him away. I was hoping to talk to you, wench.” More seriously now, he asked, “Can I come in?”

She hesitated then nodded quickly. His eyes lingered on the pink spots rising in her cheeks before she stepped aside to let him pass. As he did, he caught her scent.

His cock liked it too.

What women like that make-up girl and Taena couldn’t do, the wench accomplished without a single thought. Jaime watched her close the door, look at her feet as if gathering her courage. He noticed for the first time that she was wearing a robe, a fluffy blue-gray color damp in interesting places. _So, the wench just had a bath._

Despite standing in the warmth of her house, Jaime was still very unsure about his reasons for seeking her out. Brienne didn’t seem the type to swoon over sweet words—hells, the tone of her thank you note was more of a business missive than the woman whose flavor made his mouth water for more. One thing he knew without question was the wench was not icy or cold in any way. She was all fire. Unlike a wild, destructive conflagration, she was slow-burning and enticed to be played.

The soft thump of the bottle being put on a side table by the door snapped him awake. Jaime frowned, realizing that her damp robe, cross expression and— _fuck, was that champagne_ —meant.

“You—you don’t have company, do you?” He asked.

A pale eyebrow leaped up her hairline. “That’s an odd question. Have you come here to murder me, Jaime?”

 _Kill you with kisses. Fuck you until neither of us can stand._ He managed to smile, the smug, confident, raking Jaime Lannister grin described in a magazine once as a, “hey baby, take off your panties and let’s talk,” kind of smile.

Brienne continued to scowl at him.

“I’ve had a long day,” she continued, putting a hand on her hip. Her expression softened to wariness. “What do you want?”

“I honestly don’t know.”

“Pardon me?”

“On second thought, I do know what I want but I’d rather say it later, when you’re hopefully more open about it. I have a feeling you’ll go after me with a meat cleaver. Not that I’m here to murder you. Or hurt you.” Brienne suddenly looked away and lightbulb went off in Jaime’s head. “Wench—Brienne—I never, I swear to you that’s the last thing I’ll ever do. I’ll never deliberately hurt you. Believe that.”

She looked at him. Her eyes were midnight blue. The tip of her nose was pink.

“Jaime,” and she sighed. Her shoulders rose and fell deeply before she straightened them and looked at him. “What can I do for you? You couldn’t have just called me?”

Wow, she sounded pissed and tired. But Jaime was not going to back down. He had come too far to go back and he didn’t want to.

“No.”

She stared at him again then gestured he sit on the couch. Jaime indicated that she sit down first. She suddenly blushed and stammered, “Uh, I’m. . .I need to put on clothes, Jaime.”

Fuck, but he nearly staggered realizing what that implied. He hungrily looked at the gaping neckline of her robe, at the damp spots on her breasts, her hip. “You look decent, wench. Besides, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”

On the other hand, it might be the smart thing for her to wear more clothes. Jaime’s cock continued to warm and harden in his pants and she wasn’t even touching him, just looking at him, talking to him. It was remarkable. Her scent was subtle rather than overpowering, inviting a closer whiff instead of leaving a thick trail.

Brienne didn’t like the last thing he said. She shook her head and sat down on the sofa, throwing a portion of the robe on her thigh because it parted to reveal the supple flesh. Jaime sat down next to her, grateful it was his right stump between them. He wouldn’t be tempted. Maybe. But his stump was beginning to ache. Not from the memory of the hand it used to have but that of her lips, her touch. He never felt like he had lost a hand at all. Or if he had lost anything.

“So. . .” his voice trailed off when he saw Brienne jump at his voice. Why was she so fidgety? “How are you, wench?”

“Jaime. . .”

“I’m trying to make a conversation here.”

“I’m trying to get to the bottom of your visit. I’ve had a long day. I’m tired. Could you _please_   just tell me? And why are you telling _me?_ ” Her eyes flashed and she smirked. “Where’s your supermodel girlfriend?”

The grimace was on before he could stop himself. In spite of Taena throwing her purse at him and calling him a fucking, pathetic, one-handed fool, he still believed in being a gentleman. Besides he was a fool to turn down a hot piece of ass like her. He just didn’t have the kind of regrets a normal, red-blooded male was supposed to have.

“What’s the matter?” Brienne continued. “Trouble in paradise?”

“Actually, it was no paradise,” Jaime realized that if he wanted something good to come out tonight, he will have to be honest. It took him the whole day to summon enough courage to bring himself to her front door, and some more in his confidence in sending his chauffeur away.

He focused on the puzzlement on Brienne’s face so he seized his chance.

“Taena and I. . .it was all Tyrion’s idea. She wanted to transition into acting. He thought the best way to keep me on the radar was with a supermodel girlfriend. But it was nothing, Brienne. We were never together the way we presented ourselves in photos. I’m an actor. She’s a model. We pretend for a living.” He said. “It doesn’t mean that. . .we tried how it would be. Together.”

He paused. Brienne stared at him expectantly. “And?”

“I don’t want her.” He declared firmly. _“I want you.”_

_“Sorry?”_

“You heard me. I want you. All of you.” As Brienne shook her head, he added, “I thought I made it clear before.”

“How? Remind me what you did to get that across.” Brienne’s voice was shaking. “When did that happened? When you called me ugly? When you called me wench? When you told me to fuck off?”

“Probably. I thought I said it with flowers.” As Brienne blushed, he grunted, “Oh. You know what I’m talking about. Yes, wench. Those fucking flowers. I had to have them shipped all the way from Winterfell and you send me a fucking generic thank you note?”

“Who told you to get me flowers? Who told you to spend that much? That doesn’t obligate me. And you sent those a week after—” Another blush wave hit her and Jaime smirked.

“Oh, good. _You fucking remember._ Yes, wench. I know I was a fucking idiot waiting a week after tasting you to send you flowers.” It was almost satisfying seeing her blush and flinch. “But what was I supposed to do? You didn’t say one word after that. Not a single word. I thought to give you space. I was going to tell you that I hoped to see you again and you nearly ran over my toes driving away like the White Walkers were after you.”

He remembered too well staring after her car, feeling bereft and small, like a dog suddenly dumped on the side of the road. He could still taste her. His fingers were still slick with her. Alright, so just because they had a little after-dinner fun it meant they should take it to the next step. Of course he knew that. But he hoped, he _wanted,_ for there to be something. This couldn’t be the last time. But he thought to give her room to breathe. He needed it too, to understand what happened. Because something had. He couldn’t let go.

He had to believe she felt the same.

Brienne was staring at him with her mouth hanging open. Gods, the wench was the ugliest she had ever seen but he could not stop looking at her. He searched her beautiful eyes, waited for the deep husk of her voice to dismiss him and order him out—because he would leave if she asked. He couldn’t go on feeling as he did, not without telling her. If this was a one-way street---well, it was cruel but he would survive. He’d been through worse, he thought, cradling his stump in his left hand.

His movements drew her eyes there. She was still blushing, getting redder by the second but with her expression now normal, she wasn’t as ugly as she was seconds ago. It was tempting to brush his knuckles on her cheek, pass the pad of his thumb on her chapped, swollen lower lip.

“Does it hurt?” She asked softly.

He winced. “Every now and then. It just happens.”

“J-Jaime, I. . .” She groaned under her breath and turned, staring at her hands on her lap.

“Yes?”

_“Why are you here?”_

He was shocked. This was not the response he was expecting. “What are you talking about?”

“Did you come all the way here. . .from wherever you came from to, what, actually? Yell at me?”

“No!”

“I—I’m confused. I’m sorry.” She was telling the truth. “I—I never. . .you can’t. You can’t possibly want me. Tell me you didn’t walk away from that Taena for—for—”

She couldn’t finish it. Jaime hovered between annoyed and moved.

“For you? _Of course I did, you idiot._ ”

_“Why?”_

“Why? Weren’t you listening what I said, what? A minute ago? What the fuck do you mean why?”

Confusion remained on her flushed face. Did she not understand? But no, she did. She understood every word. She just couldn’t believe it, he realized.

It broke the heart. _Who hurt you? Who made you stop believing?_

Brienne moved to stand and Jaime quickly put his stump on her knee. He expected her to stiffen, to look away as Taena had. Instead Brienned remained where she was, staring at the scarred stump on her person. Jaime was about to remove it when her hand hesitantly rested on top of it.

“How can I not want you? You’re the only person in my life besides my brother who won’t take my bullshit. You’ve known me for only a short time wench, but you’ve always seen me clearly, haven’t you?” His voice was more gentle now that he understood where she was coming from. The muscles of her thigh under his stump were bunched tightly. She was anxious. She might even be scared her.

“It’s me you want?” She was staring at him. “Just me? Not a role in my next movie, not—”

“Only you, wench. You.”

She stared at where they were joined, his stump cradled in her hand. Jaime stared at the blue vein at the side of her neck. He wanted to kiss it, hoped a kiss would relax her and make her believe him more.

He was careful in moving closer, not wanting to send her into a panic or leap from the sofa. He moved until their knees were touching, and he was once again smelling her scent. Jaime then put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her to his chest. She was too tall to rest her head on his shoulder but he wasn’t complaining. He held her, rubbing clumsy circles on her back as her trembling body leaned against him. He kissed her on the shoulder, the tip of her ear.

“Why me, Jaime?” She whispered in his ear. She pulled back a little so she could see him.

He stared in her eyes, at the mess of her hair, the freckles around her homey face, her big teeth. The tensed expression on her face that seemed to be mix with some hope too. He’ll take it.

He had so many reasons for why _not_ her. They didn’t have the entire night to do it.

Jaime kissed her on the lips, resisting the urge to groan. Fuck but it was like coming home at last. Brienne continued to shake against him.

“Why me?” Brienne was pleading with him now. She was not resisting his kisses. “Jaime, please, I need to know. _Why me?”_

He looked in her stunning sapphire eyes and felt complete.

“I dream of you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You made it!
> 
> Stay tuned for smut in the next chapter! Thank you.


	7. Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smut, as promised.

There it was again. The incredulity in her face, her thick lips parting to reveal another protest, a rebuttal. Jaime pushed her toward his chest again, enjoying how her throat arched at the sudden motion. With his stump, he nudged a little of her robe away, revealing the freckles decorating her pale neck, and more promised on her chest. Fuck, but he had missed freckles so much. More than he wanted to admit. Eagerly, he covered her skin with kisses, playful nips, long, indulgent licks. Whimpers emitted from her, matched with little tremors in her big body as his lips touched sensitive spots.

She smelled of fresh peaches, bringing to mind sunlight and blue skies, innocence. Jaime brushed his lips back and forth across her wide jaw, catching the tip of her ear between his teeth and biting it. Brienne gasped. This time, he had to see her and she didn’t disappoint. Sapphire eyes blown nearly black with desire, soft and still unsure. But she was not pushing him away. She was not shaking her head. She had his shoulders in a bruising grip and a long, supple leg draped across his knee.

Words were not enough to convince the wench of how he felt. Kisses maybe did. Caresses. He refused for there to be the littlest room in her mind for doubts about how he felt. If he had to fuck her the whole night, he would. Oh, yeah. He was going to.

His stump rose toward her cheek. There was no revulsion in her face, no tensing in her body. How could he not want her? Then Brienne turned, took his stump gently in her hand and kissed it sweetly, as if to erase all the pain he’d had and those that will still come. It was too much. Jaime tugged her by the hair to urge her sexy, big mouth back on his. She murmured his name just before he crushed her lips in a kiss.

They fell on the sofa. Jaime swallowed a groan as her back landed a bit too hard on his stump but he didn’t stop kissing her. Her legs parted, cradling his lean hips between them. With one hand, Jaime managed to loosen the knot of her robe, refusing to stop kissing her for even a second. He swept it open, leaning up on his right arm arm as his hand brushed her sweet little tits, her puffy nipples. Through his clothes, he felt the dampness of her thick muff.

With every new surface of skin revealed, every new patch of freckles, Jaime bestowed kisses, sometimes quick and deep, sometimes airy and lingering, with the tip of his tongue, familiarizing himself with her flavor. His sole focus was Brienne, casting glances at her to see her watching him. Sometimes she closed her eyes as she surged in his arms at a new sensation, or trembled at a kiss on a part of her that had never been touched the way he was doing. As his stump gently brushed her navel, she startled him by taking it in her huge hands and guiding it between her legs. Now Jaime wished for his hand, missing the certainty of the touches it used to give. Why did he not meet her sooner?

But if he didn’t lose his hand, would they have met?

Soft blue eyes looked at him as she rubbed the rough, moist tangle of her pubic curls against his stump. It was a strange but not unwelcome sensation. Sharp tingles. Warmth. He smiled as she blushed over her actions. This was trust for Brienne.

He crawled back up to her body. His left arm was beginning to kill him because of the extra weight but he didn’t care. The hardness of his cock made seeing straight a challenge and _he didn’t care._

Only Brienne. He pressed a kiss on her full mouth, just half-closing his eyes because he wanted to watch her yield. _Gods, she was a vision._

He tugged her lower lip between his teeth, just to feel her shudder and listen to her soft whine. He dropped kisses on her closed eyes, intrigued that her pale lashes felt as delicate as a whisper compared to the rest of her. He covered her face in kisses, in silent apology for all the times he had called her ugly. He left her lips for last.

“Jaime,” she moaned, the sound causing his cock to stir even more in his pants. He rested his head on her fragrant shoulder, breathing deeply. Her fingers moving through his hair were soothing and also oddly arousing. His mouth found its way back to her soft, swollen lips.

She pulled him closer, anchoring him to her body by throwing her leg around his hip. His lips drifted to her throat, her collarbones. He inhaled the scent from between her tits, a mix of peaches and her personal scent, before taking the puckered red berry that was her nipple.

There was a hint of soap to her flavor but the rest was all Brienne. He drove her mad and squealing taking her nipples in his mouth, sucking, licking, biting ever gently and playfully. Her hips rolled against him and it took everything he had to not yank off his pants and take her hard. He wanted Brienne to be free from doubts. He wanted her to know without question he wanted her.

He cupped her breasts. With their size and his one hand, he did it, just about. He gently nibbled on the soft underside of her tit, licking the freckles there. He suckled on her nipples until they thrust stiffly in the air, red and eager for more kisses. He lashed one swollen tip repeatedly with his tongue and she whined his name, her nails scratching at his shoulders, at his back, tearing the sleeve of his shirt. He did it again and again, turned on by her response and the hot pain of her nails scoring at his skin.

He granted her some mercy by lowering his lips down to her ribs, licking and kissing her some more until he was staring at her hairy cunt and the glistening, pink flesh under the tangle. He licked his lips, the memory of her taste coming back to him with the force of a tidal wave. “Wench,” he hissed then buried his tongue in her slit.

Brienne screamed as he fucked her, firm thrusts of his tongue that soaked her cunt some more. She really tasted sweet and so womanly here. He licked the inner, more sensitive flesh of her cunt, rubbing his nose against her clit. As his name fell in pitched stutters from her lips, he gently smashed his tongue deeper in her cunt, thumbing her open with his hand and stump. Seven Hells, she was so pink and just _fucking delicious_.

Her scream rang throughout the house, the violence of it momentarily startling Jaime. Then he resumed with the greedy laps of her cunt, taking droplet upon droplet of her honeyed release. He raised one of her legs, opening her some more. Her cunt rippled around his thrusting tongue before her orgasm began to ebb away.

“Wench,” he groaned again, resting his head on her left thigh as he looked up at her. Brienne was still panting, her eyes squeezed shut. Her forehead was shiny with sweat as well as her chest. He groaned, feeling his cock throb.

It was the hunger to see her undone again that had him  pushing two fingers inside her. Her eyes flew open and she squirmed, struggling from the harsh entry of his fingers in her still-tender cunt. Grinning as her eyes flashed, he curled his fingers. “Fuck!” She gasped, squeezing his fingers hard as if to pop them off his hand. He propped himself up over her, the position deepening the merciless thrusts of his fingers. Shock and outrage flared from her eyes, which quickly darkened to desire once again. Jaime slammed his mouth over her, swallowing her moans and whimpers.

She didn’t let go after she collapsed back on the sofa, panting and gasping softly. Jaime couldn’t resist teasing her. “Seven Hells, Brienne. If this is what waits for my cock I won’t stop fucking you.”

She blushed from forehead to chest. As her cunt’s grip around his fingers began to loosen, he pulled them out. Wearily, he sucked her flavor from them and continued smiling at her. She was blushing and trying to look away but couldn’t.

“You really want to fuck me,” she whispered, awed.

Jaime rolled his eyes. “I don’t want to just fuck you, wench. _I want you_.”

She bit her lip. There was no uncertainty in her eyes now but Jaime sensed she still needed some convincing. What he would do for a script right now. He was not very eloquent. Crass and rude, yes, but not with her. He didn’t want to be that with Brienne. He sat up but continued to pet her cunt gently. Brienne kept her legs spread wide open but her cheeks were reddening.

“You haven’t answered my question,” she pointed out. He saw she was struggling to not melt against his touch. He pressed a row of kisses on her damp forehead.

“I have. I’ve shown you.”

“You haven’t told me.”

“Isn’t it enough telling you I want you? I have to explain _why_?”

“Yes, you do!” Brienne exclaimed. Jaime continued touching her, dipping his fingers gently inside her. As she blushed anew, she grunted and sat up, pulling her knees to her chest.

“Fuck, you won’t be letting me off, will you?” Jaime demanded.

“For someone who’s got the entire lexicon of insults for me, you seem to have run out of words on why you want me.”

Jaime was annoyed. His cock was killing him and Brienne was making him _explain_ why he wanted her.

“All the horrible things people have told you, including me, they’re not true. You’re amazing and honest. You are honorable. You care about the kind of stories you direct. You nurture other artists. You’re one hell of a wench and I’d be stupid to not want you. Not someone like you, Brienne. _You._ I wouldn’t dream of wanting anyone else.”

He got up from the sofa and righted his clothes. Brienne’s eyes dropped below his waist and she suddenly gasped. He looked down and sighed. He raised his head to look at her and found her gaze still riveted there. There was the tremor in her chin again. The glassy look in her awesome eyes.

His irritation at her fucking stubbornness was making him so much harder he was close to tears from torture. As he scrambled for more words to tell her how big of an idiot she was to still not believe him, Brienne suddenly swallowed. Without warning, she slid towards him and grabbed him by the hips.

There was no moment for shock. His pants were on the floor and her breath was warming his swollen cock. As he groaned and tensed, praying to the Seven he wouldn’t come from her almost-touch, she took him in her hand and wrapped her lips around his cock.

All the blood rushed from his head to his cock. Brienne gasped, feeling him thrust harder across her tongue. Jaime didn’t know if he had fallen to the floor or floating in the air—what were legs? Did he even have legs? His existence had centered to the warm, heavenly glove of her mouth. He risked looking down and almost came from her sapphires watching him. Fuck. If she was going to destroy him like this, with her sweet mouth and those eyes on him, he would sign on for the rest of his life.

“You believe me?” He managed to gasp, slipping his fingers through her rough hair and giving it a rough pull, angling her head to better fuck her throat. “Seeing me hard? That’s what makes you believe?”

He managed to pull out of her mouth, hissing as her moans made his cock tremble. He pushed back inside, then pulled out, then inside again. As he fucked her face, he grunted, “Should’ve shown you my cock early on, is that right?”

Brienne glared at him before tightening her mouth. Jaime shouted, feeling his eyeballs pop and his soul forced from his body. His stump was a weak, useless thing thumping on her shoulder to warn her of his release. Instead, she grabbed it, held it, sending more sensations through him. He was a goner. He yielded with a roar of her name.

As soon as she freed his softened cock, Jaime groaned and flopped down beside her. There was nothing sexy with his cock at half-mast and his pants tangled around his ankles. He didn’t care. He couldn’t stop looking at Brienne, his heart beating fast at her shiny lips, her chin and throat streaked with his semen. Unbelievably, she was blushing again, more furiously now. She was close to the color of a lobster and he smiled.

“You believe me now?” He gasped.

Brienne, who was trying to discreetly wipe the sleeve of her robe across her chin, muttered, “I suppose.”

His grin widened. “You’re welcome to do that again if it will help my case. Hard evidence and all.”

“Jaime, do you ever shut up?”

“No.”

His eyes twinkled while she shook her head in disapproval. And then there it was, the softest hint of a smile. He loved the warm, cornflower blue color of her eyes, the shy, hesitant smile that did things to his heart. He would never get enough of her blushes. He raised his arm toward her, meaning to touch her, when he realized it was his stump. Awkwardly, he lowered it and looked away, reminded once again of what he had lost.

The rough pads of her fingertips skimmed his arm. Jaime held his breath, watching as she once again held it, like nothing was missing from it at all. They gazed at each other.

“Come on,” Brienne, still holding his stump, got up and gave him a gentle pull. Jaime glanced down at himself, not wanting to let go but there was the situation with his pants.

Understanding the situation, she added, stammering, “Um—you—you don’t need them where we’re going.”

“Where are we going, wench?”

Dear Seven, she couldn’t even say it. _So shy despite her mouth._ She just looked pointedly upstairs. Jaime grinned again. He toed off his shoes then kicked off his pants.

Once in the bedroom, Brienne turned and kissed him. There was no time for surprise to register in Jaime, desire and lust quickly overwhelming him. Together, they removed the rest of their clothes. He admired the soft fall of moonlight on her pale, freckled skin, her tits, her cunt. As always, he lingered the longest on her eyes, beautiful, blue searchlights that destroyed the darkness of his world.

Her hand on his chest, she urged him to sit on the edge of her bed. He was more than happy to obey, and was happier still when she climbed his lap. The wench was still blushing, her eyelashes fluttering more from nervousness instead of coquettish flirtation. She was heavy and his legs would get numb shortly. Jaime didn’t care. Hand and stump skated the hard, straight line of her waist, the sensitive underside of her tits. His cock apparently didn’t need as much time to recover as he thought for it was thrusting between their bodies as soon as they kissed.

“Jaime,” she whispered when he allowed her to catch her breath before taking her mouth again. With his right arm around her waist, the fingers of his left hand pinched a turgid nipple. She ripped her mouth away to gasp and cry out. As he feasted on her sweet nipples, he stretched out on the bed, taking her with him. They had to part momentarily to completely lay on it then they were kissing again, Brienne’s weight wonderfully crushing him. Jaime took his cock and brushed the leaking head against the spread lips of her cunt, gently patting it on her clit. She hissed and he bit her lower lip.

“Let me fuck you,” he begged.

She nodded weakly. Jaime continued to circle his cock on her clit, his pre-cum mixing with her own leaking juices as she fumbled in the drawer for the condoms. A long strip fell on the bed. She moaned in complaint and  sat up. He didn’t help her tear a packet from the perforation. He was too busy caressing her tits with his stump and pressing his cock against her clit, nudging her labia open and feeling her drip.

By the time she rolled the condom on, Jaime was close to death. He grabbed her hips and pushed her down. She gasped and immediately started squirming. It was too much at once. “You’re too big,” she whispered.

“And you’re so fucking wet,” he whispered back, taking her mouth.

Her cunt was tight and greedy despite initial resistance. Wet slaps of flesh and muscle filled the room, mingling with their rough, lewd groans. Brienne panted hard against Jaime’s mouth through their kiss, the muscles of her arms bunching as she kept herself above him. His hand and stump behind her thighs kept her wide open but she remained tight. Jaime was between heaven and hell.

He so badly needed to come now. The wench put to the test his discipline, his endurance. His eyes were pleading as he reluctantly broke away from their kiss. “Are you close?” He demanded.

She must have nodded. Maybe she whispered. It wasn’t enough. With a hard kiss on her mouth that was both in apology and hunger, he pushed his hand between them and fingered her clit.

“Shit,” Brienne gasped, suddenly clenching around him. Now that he had some of his strength back, he held close, took a deep breath then switched places. Big blue eyes stared up at him as he pulled one of her legs over his shoulder. His cock battered relentlessly in her while his fingers roughly stroked her clit. “J-Jaime---” she started to say, her nails clinging to his skin again. He pinched her clit and watched as her eyes widened, her mouth opening to let out a harsh cry. Her cunt muscles squeezed around his thrusting cock as her honey dribbled down between them, slickening her entrance and inviting deeper fucks. Jaime took advantage, fingers stroking her swollen clit non-stop as he thrust three more times.

“Fuck!” He shouted, fountaining up inside her. Her warmth seemed to burn through the latex. He kissed her again, tasting more of her little, weak gasps as they surged against each other. Then she turned, taking her lips away from him as her body lay limp on the bed. Jaime rested above her. They continued to pant and listen to the hard, rapid beating of their hearts. He raised himself on his elbows, seeking her mouth for a deep kiss of fueled longing before he fell beside her. It was sweet how she cuddled against him. He kissed her on the forehead and pulled the blanket over them.

At first light, they woke up at the same time. All it took was a look at her sleepy eyes even more beautiful in the rising sun for Jaime to climb over her and take her in one, smooth thrust. She was still sticky and wonderfully wet. Their tongues were slow, leisurely caresses on each other’s. Hips rolled gently despite the relentless thrusts of his cock and the tight, clinging clutch of her cunt. After they came, Brienne covered his stump with more kisses.

Fucking was hungry work. Brienne was blushing as she confessed that she would like to cook for them but she was still exhausted. Jaime would offer but her kitchen was not outfitted to accommodate his handicap. So he suggested that he call his driver and take them somewhere that served breakfast at this early hour.

Brienne looked like she wanted to have his babies. Jaime grinned, enjoying her blushing and shy enthusiasm over the idea.

“Will you? Oh, Jaime, it’s just this one time.”

“Hey, come on now. It’s no big deal.” He assured her. He kissed her puffy mouth.

So he placed the call and got dressed. His jeans were still wearable but his boxers were still moist. Brienne blushed violently as he innocently asked to borrow one of her panties. It wouldn’t be a big deal to go commando but it was cold. He grinned as she pointed to her dresser.

He selected a pair of dark blue mesh panties. He grinned as she tried stifling a laugh, warning him between spurts and gasps that it probably won’t fit him. But he put them on, tucking his cock in the delicate underwear and startled that things weren’t as smooshed down there as he expected. He loved hearing her laugh, he loved seeing her blush and her sapphire eyes twinkle as they were doing now. She offered him a t-shirt and a sweater too. Then he sat at the foot of the bed, enjoying the show she was unintentionally putting for him, padding around the room in big bare feet and in her nameday suit as she got dressed.

It wasn’t the limo that picked him up this time but a luxury car, nevertheless. Jaime gallantly opened the door for her. In the backseat, he reached for her hand and was glad when she squeezed him back, albeit hesitantly.  His kiss on her cheek was chaste, a surprising reprieve from the torrent he had been giving her since last night.

It was a different diner this time. They still held hands as they took a booth in the corner, away from the rest of the early breakfast crowd. Brienne looked around worriedly then at Jaime. To show her didn’t care if he was recognized, let alone seen with her, he took her hand and pulled it to his lips. But it was no romantic, gentlemanly kiss. Brienne stared at him in disbelief as he unabashedly licked her fingers and palm—and was still doing so when a waitress arrived with their menus. Hmm. Even her fingers tasted good.

“Oh—ah. . .” The waitress looked away from Jaime’s obscene kisses and turned to Brienne. “Why don’t I come back for you when you’re ready—”

“We’ll have pancakes with a side of bacon,” Jaime announced, letting go of Brienne’s hand. He smirked as she quickly retracted it and hid it under the table. “Coffee for me, black. And for the lady, a cup of warm water with lemon in it.”

“Uh,” Brienne managed to find her voice but it was little too high. He chuckled under his breath. “I’d like blueberry pancakes. And,” she was suddenly hesitant, “Could you pre-cut his order?”

Jaime hated it when people accommodate him but when it was her, he found himself touched by her consideration. At the waitress’ puzzled expression, he showed her his stump. Her disapproving look over his earlier behavior vanished.

“Sure thing.” Her smile was kind. “No problem.” Then she repeated their order before taking their menus away.

Brienne, her hands on her lap, shook her head at him. “You’re unbelievable.”

He sat back, smug. “But you liked it.”

She didn’t refute him. He added, “You’re irresistible, you know. I can’t believe it took me this long to realize that.”

“Come on,” she said, blushing.

He had to smile. _Still the stubborn wench._

“It’s true. You’re just wonderful. I admire you.”

She looked at him then. Jaime held his breath, wondering if he would ever get used to the astonishing beauty of her eyes.

They were still staring at each other, Jaime enjoying the emotions scudding on her face as she hovered between acceptance and struggle about the fact of just how great she was. He realized now that he would have to give her time to get used to the idea, let alone realize it. That was alright. He would wait, just as long as they were together.

The waitress returned with their order, efficiently putting down plates of pancakes on the table, followed by Jaime’s coffee and Brienne’s lemon water. She bade them to enjoy their meal. “If you need help, just give me a holler,” she added before leaving.

Jaime was hungry. As Brienne had requested, his pancakes were pre-cut. He ate the food, happy to put something in his stomach again.

Brienne, strangely, was not touching her food. Just as he was about to ask what was the matter, she took a deep breath and took her plate. She slid it next to him before she got up and walked around the table. She met his inquiring stare and sat down next to him.

“Wench,” he murmured as their knees touched. He put an arm around her shoulders and she smiled at him. She was beginning to believe him. They kissed on the lips.

“Is this okay, Jaime?” She asked.

“More than okay,” he assured her.

They turned back to their food. Of course, he realized, flushing, he couldn’t eat now because his left arm was around Brienne and he was loathed to let go of her. Brienne, realizing his predicament, stabbed her fork onto his pancake and brought it to his lips. He smiled and opened his mouth.

She suddenly smirked and took the food for herself.

“Oh, is that how it is?” He demanded as she continued eating off his plate. She blushed and nodded as she chewed. This was just precious. He continued to affect annoyance.

On her fourth bite, he put his lips close to her ear. She smelled faintly of peaches and strongly of sex. It was intoxicating. 

“If you don’t feed me, I won’t have the strength to fuck you, wench.”

He burst out laughing at the red that seemed to burst from her cheeks. Her shoulders shook with laughter, a hand covering her mouth because she was still chewing. He leaned, telling her with a look he wanted to kiss. So she dropped her hand and he licked her syrup-slicked lips. She trembled against him, her eyes half-closed.

Then she resolutely turned away, loaded up the fork and held it to him. He took a quick bite.

“It will take more than a couple of pancakes to fuck me again, Jaime,” she said, feeding him.

“Why do think there’s bacon?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you go, smut! 
> 
> Thank you for reading! :-)


	8. Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lights, camera, smut!
> 
> (Early in the chapter)

Catelyn Stark’s eyes were blue swords striking the unfortunate recipient of her words. She was half the size of the men surrounding her, all of them heavily armored and with their hands ready to draw their blades. Her gown was elegantly stitched but simple gray, light in fabric so her petite form won’t be dragged down. The rising rage that drew her body taut made it seem she had spikes on her person, and her glare to the person she was speaking to meant to slice him into pieces.

“You will strike me down? Have you forgotten me, ser? I am the widow of your liege lord! I am the mother of your king!”

Through the screen, Brienne watched the seething outrage, command and sympathy Catelyn showed with every word she spoke. She shook her head, impressed yet again by the performance of the actress. As Catelyn and her partner in the scene, Rickard Karstark, exchanged harsh words, the crew was enthralled, amazed at getting to witness something this amazing with their own eyes. Seconds after the last lines were spoken, Brienne was still awed and astounded at the consistent excellence they were giving.

“Cut!” She called out.

Catelyn let out a big sigh of relief, the harshness of her expression softening while Rickard laughed and led the other actors and crew in applause, nodding at her. “Oh, stop kissing my ass!” She exclaimed, flushing. Everyone laughed and clapped even louder.

Brienne stood up from her seat but before she could take another step, Podrick was in front of her, phone against his ear. He looked anxious. “Brienne, you only have three hours before the premiere. Jorah just called and he ordered me to get you in the car whether kicking or screaming.”

She groaned and rolled her eyes. Jorah was making too much of a big deal of her first foray into mainstream film through _Kingslayer._ He had scheduled her for interviews in magazines and newspapers months in advance so they would be printed just in time for the premiere. In the last two weeks, she also did some hard-core talk show tours. Being in front of the camera was not her favorite place to be and she liked being stuck in a chair, made up, her eyes nearly getting plucked out by a pencil just so she would look somewhat okay. There was also the matter of Jorah having to hunt down designers that made clothes catering to her proportions. She had the height of a model but she was muscular and broad. Somehow, he found one, Donyse. She had a playful style that mixing tradition with the unexpected. Fashion watchers have taken note of Brienne’s tailored suits paired with graphic t-shirts, finished with either ultra-feminine stilettos or rock-and-roll booties.

“Alright, alright, I’m going, I’m going,” Brienne grumbled as Podrick handed over her studded black leather satchel. “But I have to—”

“You don’t have any meetings after the shoot. And I asked the assistant directors to take care of the post-production work after today.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Don’t worry about us, Brienne,” said Ramsay Bolton, shooting her a thumbs-up sign.

“Let’s go, let’s go,” Podrick insisted. Brienne threw up her hands.

“That was great, everyone! Alright, that’s it for today! Until tomorrow!” She called out as Podrick started pulling her out of the studio. She snatched her arm away and glared at him. He shrugged, unrepentant.

“Brie, it’s a big night for you, come on.”

“Fuck my ass it is. I don’t know why I have to be primped and all. Who’d be looking at me?” She pointed out as they went out. A chauffeured car was waiting for them, provided by the studio behind _Kingslayer._

“Get us to the hotel as fast as you can,” Podrick told the chauffeur as he slid in beside Brienne.

“Usually, he’s a lot nicer,” Brienne remarked, shaking her head at Podrick. He flushed. She nudged him with her knee. “Look, if Jorah’s threatened to castrate you because I’m late getting to the hotel, you tell me now. I’ll castrate him myself with the shit he’s been making me do! I’m a director. I should always be behind the camera.”

“You’ve always been behind the camera. Don’t you think it’s time people saw you?”

Brienne narrowed her eyes at him. “Alright. Just how good is the sex with Sansa that you’re no longer my quiet assistant?”

He turned pink and suddenly stammered, “A-A g-gentleman has the right to remain silent.”

“Holy shit. It’s that good? And you’re still fucking?”

This time, Podrick rolled his eyes. “We’re having fun.”

Brienne grinned then laughed. “Hey, no judgment. And I’m just joking. I like this new, assertive Podrick Payne. But I have a question. Does Catelyn know?” Catelyn was Sansa’s mother.

“Like I said,” he sounded exasperated. “We’re just having fun.”

They reached the Blackfyre Hotel in fifteen minutes. Podrick handed her the key card as he told her the room number. The make-up people and the stylist were already there. Brienne grunted under her breath about wishing to go back to indie films as they left the car. As they entered the lobby, his phone rang.

“”Hello? Oh, Jaime. Yes. She’s here.”

Now Brienne was blushing.

She and Jaime have been together for ten, wonderful months. Their relationship was not exactly a secret but they made the decision early on to be discreet about it. Both had a severe dislike for the paparazzi as well as the entertainment rags that published their photos. Though some articles have noted of a possible romance between the director and the actor, the absence of any photo made this doubtful. Jorah and Tyrion had also hired a public relations team to control the press regarding their relationship.

With both of them highly visible in Weirdwood due to their current and upcoming projects, they were being interviewed a lot. Too many times Jaime had been asked about his romance with Brienne and his reply was always a terse, “No comment.” Through Tyrion and their public relations team, it was soon filtered to the media that any personal question was not going to be entertained and Jaime had the right to cancel the interview.

The scrutiny was not as bad for Brienne, however. The absence of photos put their relationship as a mere rumor so she was mainly asked about her projects. Once or twice, a reporter tried to trip her up and, as Jaime taught her, she declared, “No comment.”

They didn’t sneak around nor did they stay home most of the time. They went out a lot but it was often to quiet, neighborhood places. Brienne’s height made it easy for her to pass herself off as a man—she only had to put a baseball cap over her limp blond hair, dress in her usual jeans and t-shirts and she was just another tall guy. They loved diners, and people in diners always left them alone. This gave them the freedom to kiss and hold hands in public—or just be affectionate without being conscious about it.

Brienne had never been in a serious relationship before. Jaime had had two serious girlfriends but he broke up with the last one long before the accident. Though they have not really spoken of it, each was aware that something was different this time. For Brienne, she supposed it’s because this was the first time she was in love.

The early months were not the easiest for them. She trusted Jaime without question but in the back of her mind was the fear he would one day snap out of the dream and leave her. She made it clear to him this was her problem. He was doing great, often better.

Jaime was a man of action. He was brash and impulsive, he expected immediate results. She knew it was difficult and frustrating for him too so, despite hating having to revisit that time of her life involving Selwyn’s cruel ex-girlfriend, she told Jaime. This was only the beginning.

She told him about a boy in college who pretended to like her but was only doing it as an initiation stunt of bringing the ugliest girl to the party. There was also the harassment she had to suffer through as a young, female film-maker. On her twenty-fifth birthday, she got drunk, went to a bar, picked up a guy who more drunk than she was. He was the bartender and they fucked in the storage room, her on top of a crate. She didn’t remember the guy but she remembered the pain.

It was enough to put her off sex for a few years. When she felt herself ready to do it again, it was with random guys. The kind she would never see again. She never brought them to her place. It gave her some power, at being the one able to leave.

Jaime was the man she couldn’t walk away from. Nor did she want to. It was still disconcerting being at the receiving end of his tender yet smoldering looks. But she no longer stiffened when he put his arms around her at night, kissed her and murmured he loved her. She looked forward to mornings, roused by the warmth of his hand on her breast, sitting next to him at breakfast and exchanging kisses tasting of coffee and maple syrup. She used to trip over the three words  barely able to fight the onset of an anxiety attack. Her heart still raced but she looked in his eyes now and said firmly, clearly, “I love you,” when they went their separate ways for the day. Jaime lighting up encouraged her to say them often.

Her room was in the twentieth floor. She let herself in, dreading being stuck in the chair again. With a pained look on her face, she stared, unimpressed, at the elegant furnishings of the suite. Hey, she was proud of _Kingslayer_. She just wished she could get ready in her usual way instead of with professional stylists and make-up people. The important thing was the film, not what she was wearing.

She tossed her bag on a couch, looking around and deducing quickly the suite was empty. She entered the bedroom and sat down at the foot of the king-sized bed, puzzled.

Suddenly she heard the door open and _Jaime_ calling for her. Confused but pleased, she hurried out to meet him and found herself quickly in his arms. He grinned just before taking her lips in a deep, ardent kiss.

There was no way to _not_ melt against him. Despite being taller and heavier, Jaime didn’t stagger nor loosen his hold on her. She clutched at his face with both hands, and one of her legs rose on its own accord to wrap around his hip. Jaime chuckled between kisses and she blushed, realizing how wanton she was being. She was still shy, still unused and surprised by the feelings awakened by him. She thought it strange that he seemed charmed and turned on by it.

“You’re here,” she murmured but still sounding surprised. Slumberous emerald eyes gazed back at her as he smoothed the hair from her cheek.

“So I am.” His smile was gentle and. . .really happy. He really was happy with her. She kissed his palm. When she looked back at him, there was an odd sheen in his eyes.

“What is it?” She asked, putting a hand on his chest.

Jaime blinked and shook his head, smiling. “It’s nothing, wench.” When she remained unconvinced, he kissed her quickly on the lips. “I promise. It’s. . .I’m glad we’re together, you know?”

“Yeah.” She nodded. Their thoughts were aligned, despite their different personalities. “I do.”

The smile on his face turned into a mischievous smirk. Her cheeks burned as he reached for his belt, his prosthetic providing some assistance but his left hand doing most of the work.

Jaime’s love had become a part of her life in a way that the life she had prior to it was a blur. There was not a single day where he didn’t amaze her with things about her he loved—including the bits that he himself told her were not very lovable but because it was her, he loved them too. It was only supposed to be parents to love you unconditionally. Jaime was teaching her this was not true at all.

But she was still not used being found desirable. Kisses and touches, often inappropriate and delightful (she’d die first before admitting it), came from Jaime at every opportunity. He loved sliding his hand under her clothes whether in bed or she was at work in front of the computer. When they were out, her hand was clasped in his, easily holding her much bigger one. He teased her for her blush, pressed kisses on her freckles every single day. He looked at her with both admiration and lust.

His eyes burned like wildfyre as he watched her blush and breathe quickly and harshly through her nose as he loosened her belt and worked on the zipper of her jeans. She was shaking and though she was standing, she couldn’t feel the floor under her feet.

“P-Pod said I had to get ready,” she whispered as her pants parted open.

“So he did. And you will.” Jaime said casually. He knelt in front of her and started unlacing her sneakers.

Brienne hummed, realizing that it had all been a ruse for Jaime to spend some time with her before the premiere. She blinked several times, still unable to grasp that someone like Jaime Lannister wanted to be with her, in the way he was going to be with her shortly. He smiled up at her, flashing those dimples she couldn’t resist, his gaze longing.

“Care to help me out, wench?” He murmured, hand and prosthetic sliding up the sides of her jeans before he urged her to bend a knee to slip off one shoe, then the next.

“J-Jaime, the premiere. . .”she whispered as he pulled her jeans and panties down, touching her gently to lift one leg at a time to completely discard them.

“Has been moved to a later hour. Tyrion told me.  Jorah told Podrick because you were busy. No, no, nothing about the film. It’s fine. No technical problems of any kind,” he assured her as her eyes widened and she visibly tensed. He rubbed his hand up and down her thigh, making her shiver in pleasure. “There was a prior event and they weren’t able to dismantle or get it ready on time. Nothing you have to worry about, wench. Now,” he continued, grinning, “where were we?”

“This,” she whispered, taking his right arm in her hands. Keeping her eyes on him, she loosened the false hand. Jaime took it from her and flung it to the sofa.

“I missed you all day,” he told her.

It should be ridiculous, she should _feel_ ridiculous standing half-naked and a man as handsome as a god at her feet. But his hand and stump gently rubbing up and down the sides of her thighs rendered her incapable of feeling anything else but anticipation for what was to come. Then he started kissing her thighs, dragging his even teeth across the firm muscles to suck briefly. She watched as his golden head nuzzled her muff of pale and dirty-blond curls as if they were soft. He inhaled deeply, as if it was a sweet-smelling bouquet. Her knees began to buckle

“How was work?” he whispered as he pressed kisses on the sensitive creases of her cunt.

“G-Gods,” she moaned, her head suddenly too heavy for her neck as it fell back, drawing her throat into an arch. She thought she heard and felt him chuckle before a hand was wrapping around her thigh to gently part it from the other. Then a long finger began to enter her, first carefully, gauging her wetness. She reddened hearing the squelch from her cunt, squeezing her eyes as she felt the moisture slide down to her thighs.

“Wench,” Jaime’s voice was soft but playful. The gently entry of his finger became firming pumps. “How was work?”

“Seriously?” She gasped. She felt her nipples tighten painfully under her shirt. Her clit stiffened between her sodden folds.

“Ah. There’s my wench,” he murmured. Because her eyes remained closed, she didn’t see him grin before kissing her clitoris firmly.

_“Jaime.”_

“I’ll tell you how mine went,” he offered. “But open your eyes, wench. Come on. Look at me. _Yes._ Your eyes are so fucking beautiful, have I told you?”

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. He smiled at her then resumed covering her cunt with soft, deep kisses except where she really wanted him to. She reached for his shoulders while his hand and stump continued caressing her thighs.

“I’ll tell you how mine went. There was a long scene about how guys aren’t generous with giving women oral. Got me thinking about us.” His finger returned inside her cunt, joined with another. “Started thinking about my wench.”

“You’re—you’re---great at it,” Brienne grunted, trying to close her thighs around his fingers.

“Aw, thanks, wench. You know I can’t get enough of this.” Jaime’s tongue swiped at her clitoris and she groaned loudly, holding him tightly. “Can’t get enough of you. Couldn’t wait to get home and worship my goddess wench.”

She made a sound between a laugh and a moan. Jaime bestowed another kiss on her clit. _“Jaime.”_

“You’re so fucking sexy.”

“Please,” she begged as he fucked her, his fingers speeding up.

“Hmm. Also can’t get enough hearing you beg. _So fucking hot._ Tell me what you want.” He might be worshipping but Jaime was completely in command.

“Fuck me,” she moaned. _“Jaime.”_

She squeezed his fingers and wailed, yanked to her tiptoes and her eyes falling closed. A spark went off in her cunt that seemed to dance and twist languidly before disappearing. As the soft high of her release began to dissolve, Jaime pulled his fingers out. She was immediately bereft, her eyes flying open and a whimper leaving her lips. He stood before her, his eyes dark and his jaw set.

He suddenly grabbed her by nape and kissed her roughly on the mouth, sure to bruise her and make her fuller lips look bigger. She kissed him back, arms flinging around his shoulders and her body collapsing heavily against him. This time Jaime staggered but held on, his right arm strong and secure around her waist before hooking under her knee. His erection, hard and warm under his jeans, bumped against the widened lips of her cunt as he opened her up, holding on to her leg pressed against his wide.

He couldn’t carry her but he definitely knew how to move her. Still kissing, his feet began to lead her, as if in a dance, because her body was draped against him. One step, two steps, more, until the bed hit the back of her knees and she happily sat down, her sapphire eyes glittering. Jaime grinned and tugged at her shirt, which she was more than happy to dispense with. He tossed down his jacket, dragged his t-shirt over his head while she attacked his jeans. She pushed them far down enough to his knees. She walked her arms on the bed until she lay fully on it, blushing yet her legs open, giving him a tempting a view of her sodden curls and glistening slit.

Her eyes hungrily roamed Jaime’s body. He would always be conscious of his missing hand but in her eyes, he couldn’t be more perfect. He was beautiful with his thick, golden hair, though now trimmed instead of the shoulder-grazing grunge-y style he wore after shooting _Kingslayer._ She was enthralled by the brilliance of his eyes, at his golden skin and the lean muscles. She gazed at his stump, and yes, though she didn’t know him at the time it happened, she too felt _his_ loss. But he was so much more than he imagined himself to be. For all his snark and sarcasm, Jaime Lannister had a complexity very few people were aware of. She was one of them and considered it a privilege to be included in the tight circle that knew him better than most.

She opened her arms and he put himself there. They fit like a pair who have always been together, or maybe they always were but have been lost from each other for so long. He mouthed her breast, taking the small mound before raining kisses around it,  one freckle at a time, driving her mad, driving her to near tears before kissing her nipple. The fat tip was now tight and red, eager for deeper, harder kisses. Jaime delivered, gave it his all. She spread her arms over her head, pawing at the padded headboard then realizing there was nothing to grasp. Jaime was too busy sucking her nipple, making it harder, making her cunt wet again, to notice her blush even more at her awkward move.

She wrapped her long legs around his waist, crossed at the ankles then turned, pushing Jaime on his back and her on top. His eyes lit up in surprise, followed by a smile as he stared at her chest. Leaning over him, her tits hung like small but ripe fruits. His grin got positively wicked before opening his mouth to take her other nipple in his mouth, coaxing it to voluptuous tightness. She moaned, gasped, panted, ruffling his hair, her hands fisting the sheets. His hand and stump slid down her sides, palming her ass, urging her to straddle him wide.

With her the lips of her slit spread open, her clit was in direct contact with his cock. They growled together as the tender, pink nub pressed against the warm, velvety column of his erection. His stump wrapped around the back of her waist, keeping her flush and tight against him as he kissed and suckled her nipples noisily. As she felt herself once again approaching her peak, she felt Jaime’s fingers brushing the divide of her buttocks. Her spine stiffened and she gasped, knowing what was going to happen and trying not to be too eager for it because it still embarrassed her—but only a little now. Then his finger was there, gently pumping in that forbidden crevice and she couldn’t give a moment’s fuck to shame and what was proper. Jaime was kissing her. Jaime’s cock was rubbing against her clit. Jaime was teasing her in the ass.

And fucking Seven Hells, she loved it. _Everything_ he was doing to her.

“Wench,” he grunted against her ear. “Take me inside. _Now._ ”

She grasped his cock, rubbing it more for herself so she could watch his jaw slacken but pleasuring him even more to the point that he was pretty close to embarrassing himself. Holding it firmly, she guided herself down on it, grunting and sweating because he was huge and her entire body was yelling she should fuck herself hard. Her discipline prevailed, forcing her hips to roll languidly against his.

_“Brienne.”_

_“Jaime.”_

Her wish to draw it out lasted a few seconds before their bodies were battling each other. They were both strong and muscled, equal in strength in some aspects and not. Jaime took her hips and guided her up and down his cock in a rough, furious pace that had her seeing stars. She gasped, stunned at how glorious it was, how glorious it _always_ was.

The headboard rattled against the wall. The hinges of the bed squeaked and whined under the violence of their fucking. Sheets were dragged off the mattress. Hair was pulled. Lips bitten. Brienne was sure she was going to have to sit in ice for the entire night with how hard she was fucking herself on Jaime’s cock. Fuck that. He felt wonderful.

She came with a scream of his name, tightening around so powerfully around his cock his eyes nearly exploded out of their sockets from the unbelievable pleasure. He shouted her name next.

They were still panting and flushing minutes later. As the silver chimes of the suite’s buzzer rang, Brienne’s eyes widened. “Jaime, what if---” she couldn’t speak it. It was alright for people like Pod, Jorah and Tyrion to know about them but not the others. No. She couldn’t—she couldn’t face that. Not yet.

Jaime put a hand on her hip and squeezed. She expected annoyance, not amusement.

“Don’t worry about it, wench. Help me get dressed and I’ll get the door.”

 

The stylists remarked on Brienne’s dewy and flushed skin as they got her ready. If they only knew, she thought as the final touches of her make-up were applied.

It had been Podrick at the door, come to warn them about the imminent arrival of Brienne’s stylists and their equipment. Brienne was disappointed that their afternoon idyll was over but at least they managed to spend some time. Given the buzz of the premiere and the time being pushed back, there was definitely more interest now. Interviews at the red carpet will be a minimum of thirty minutes, the movie was an hour and eighty minutes long, then the after-party where there will be more press wanting more interviews and even a soundbite  They won’t be finished until way past midnight.

“Alright, Brienne,” Sansa said, stepping away and nodding with a smile. “Look at how incredible you are.”

With dread, Brienne turned to look at herself in the mirror and froze.

No limp, rough-looking blond bob on her head for a change. Tousled, silky waves framed her cheeks. Sansa had worked on her face for what felt like hours but it didn’t look like she was wearing make-up at all, except for her red lipstick. She looked at her friend doubtfully who grinned at her.

“I didn’t have to do much. But I thought a no-make-up look with a bold lip color would be best for you. I was right.”

Brienne was still uncomfortable about wearing make-up but she still looked like herself. Sansa didn’t try to make her look attractive because there was no hope to that but she emphasized Brienne’s blue eyes. Looking at her own eyes in the mirror, she imagined that Jaime was with her right now, saying knowingly how beautiful they were. Of course he knew.

She glanced at her outfit then back at the stylist, Jeyne Westerling, and her agent, Jorah Mormont. Jorah clapped his hands. “You look amazing.”

“’Absolutely,” Jeyne said.

“You’re giving me second thoughts about being straight,” Sansa told her with a wink. “Fuck, Brienne, you’re _hot._ ”

“”You really look great,” Podrick added.

“Shut up,” Brienne muttered, blushing furiously.

Her jumpsuit was blue. She didn’t mind the color. She didn’t mind jumpsuits too. But it was sleeveless with a deep, plunging neckline that almost reached her navel. She worried about popping out, though her tits were practically non-existent. Jeyne promised that the magic of tape would keep her modesty intact. “What modesty,” Brienne retorted as she was helped in the jumpsuit earlier. It was so fucking revealing. Her nipples were still tight and straining from Jaime’s kisses.

“You shut up,” Jorah stood beside her in the mirror and gave her shoulders a reassuring squeeze. “Ah, look at you. Let’s hope there’s more tits on toast than no tits, eh?”

“Jorah!” Brienne growled, slapping him hard on the arm while everyone laughed.

“Relax,” Jorah told her, rubbing his sore arm and rolling his eyes. “And ow.”

“History will be made tonight,” Sansa declared as she put an arm around Podrick. “The movie’s spectacular and the director has a nice pair of tits. That has never happened.”

“Alright, one more word about my tits and someone is getting thrown out the window!” Brienne warned them.

Silver chimes played in the room again. “That’s Jaime,” Podrick murmured, turning to get the door. Brienne and Jaime were going to the premiere together. Nobody would suspect anything despite the rumors.

Jaime followed Podrick in the room and Brienne couldn’t stop from gasping. Boy, when Jaime cleaned up he really was the master. Golden hair styled, green eyes bright, and a charcoal gray suit and immaculate white shirt that was just perfect on him. Brienne felt her cunt flutter and she blushed. By the Seven, all it took was a glance at Jaime for her ovaries to get worked up.

“Ah, there’s my favorite director in the world,” Jaime announced. He was smiling but his eyes were absolutely predatory taking in her appearance. It was clear he was going to try something in the limo on the way to the premiere and it got her blushing even more.

“If we can have the room for a while, please?” He asked everyone. Jorah and Sansa shared a knowing look and left, taking the others with them. Jaime closed the door then leaned against it, staring at Brienne.

She held up a warning finger. “If you’re going to kiss me, make sure you don’t ruin the lipstick or Sansa will have both our heads.”

“Thanks for warning me,” Jaime told her, pulling away from the door and standing at his full height. “Gods, Brienne. Look at you. You look marvelous.”

She managed a small, hopeful smile. “Really?” She made a face at her heels. “I’m so much taller.”

“More magnificence, in my book, wench. I’m so proud to have you at my side tonight. How are you?”

He put his hands on her waist. He was still looking at her hungrily but right now, her comfort was his concern. Brienne’s fingers fluttered lightly on the collar of his shirt. She was so much taller than him right now but for the first time in her life, she didn’t feel compelled to slouch.

“I feel like throwing up, actually,” she admitted. “My gods, Jaime. This is it. My first mainstream film.”

“Yeah. It sure is.” He told her. “Do you want me to get you some ice? Maybe water?”

“I’ll be fine. I’m like this at every premiere but it’s like, double now.”

“Poor baby. I’d kiss you but I would like to spend, I don’t know, the next eighty years of my life and longer with you, so. . .” he took her hand and kissed it like a prince would in a fairy tale. “A kiss for the loveliest, most amazing maiden in Westeros.”

She giggled. Jaime opened his arms and she gratefully sank into them.

“I wouldn’t have done the movie without you,” she whispered, hugging him.

“Likewise, wench.” Jaime held her tightly. “I love you, Brienne.”

She didn’t see stars. She was sure she was right in the sky with them.

 

 

The media outlets and paparazzi on the red carpet were quick to take note of Brienne’s red face as she emerged from the limousine after Jaime. Her eyes rivalled the brightness of all the flashbulbs going off right that very moment. One reporter would note in her review that “the stoicism that has become synonymous to Brienne Tarth as her gritty, unapologetic character explorations in film was noticeably absent. But who wouldn’t be? _Kingslayer_ is easily one of the best films of the year, if not the best. It is likely to have a spot as among the hundred best in Weirwood. Who wouldn’t have stars in their eyes over having a place in history and on your first Weirwood film? Brienne Tarth had stolen them all.”

If they weren’t looking at her face, it was her racy jumpsuit that told the world that while Brienne Tarth was not conventionally attractive, she made tiny tits look sexy and classy. And how tall was she again?

Jaime and Brienne held hands as they walked down the red carpet, preceded by their agents, publicists and other handlers. Tyrion, despite his short stature, ruled the media on the red carpet. He led his brother and Brienne to reporters from the best entertainment shows, magazines, film columnists in newspapers.

A reporter for The Raven Scroll wanted to know what was it about the role that drew him out of retirement.

“In the hands of a good writer, even the simplest characters have complexity. My character in the movie is not simple at all—I think he’s the man for whom the word ‘complicated’ was coined. Sam Tarly did one hell of a job in taking this character apart to know what he’s made of and dangling it as some kind of treat through the script for my character to pursue it and become the man he is by the movie’s end.”

Brienne, standing next to Jaime, had to deal with a question like this from The Varys Reader:

“How did you approach this film as a woman?” He asked.

Brienne narrowed her eyes at him. “Is there another way of approaching it?”

“Well, of course. A man would approach it differently, won’t he?”

“Here’s something I hope people know more of beginning today,” she said, annoyed. “The way we approach anything in the world will always be as women because that’s what we are. We have the pussy and “the uterus to prove it—” she had to fight off the smirk as the reporter gasped. “Following this thought, male directors take on a story and shooting a movie because they have the cock and the balls. It’s different but the same, and no approach is better than the other. Directors should be judged not for whether they direct movies with their cocks or pussy but whether they are able to tell excellently, through the visual medium, a story of the human condition, whether in triumph or tragedy.”

Jaime overheard and shot the reporter a murderous glare. As the reporter slinked back, he looped his arm through Brienne’s and together, followed Tyrion and Jorah down the red carpet.

There were more questions. Most were insipid and very few could be called insightful. Brienne was almost relieved when they were in the cinema. Since the interviews were done, now they could interact with people they really wanted to be with. Neither strayed far from each other’s side and would exchange smiles or heated looks while conversing with other people.

They sat together. It was a quick, almost-nothing kiss but Brienne felt it right to her core. Also, a reporter quick with her camera phone managed to snap the precise moment Jaime Lannister took her hand and kissed it. The lights in the cinema dimmed right after.

That brief contact of his lips on her hand slowed the frantic beating of her heart. It picked up again as soon as his lips left her. Brienne was taking deep, quiet breaths when she felt Jaime’s lips on her shoulder. Her heart rate then slowed down.

“Brienne?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you for hauling my ass out of Eastwatch.”

The opening credits flashed on the screen. The little light from them showed the pinkish-red glow of her cheeks.

“You’re welcome.”

About ten minutes in the movie, Brienne suddenly turned to him.

“Jaime?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

She sat back and enjoyed the rest of her movie. They held hands the entire time.

An hour and eighty minutes later, thunderous applause and whistled shook the walls of the cinema.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally. An update!
> 
> Things were suddenly crazy this week at work, so that comes first. Thank you so much for waiting and reading and hopefully, loving this chapter. 
> 
> The opening scene of the chapter comes from one of my favorite Game of Thrones episodes. Michelle Fairley was soooo amazing in that scene and should have been nominated for an Emmy. Also, if you look closely, when the camera focuses on Jaime during the showdown between Cat and Rickard Karstark, he sneaks a glance at Brienne. Ooh boy. Love at first sight. Sigh. When GoT used to be good. 
> 
> If you're curious about what Brienne's jumpsuit looks like, go here:  
> https://res-3.cloudinary.com/g4k-fashion/image/upload/c_fit,dpr_1.0,f_auto,q_auto/media/catalog/product/8/4/845_black_edit2.jpg
> 
> And it's done in this color:  
> http://i.dailymail.co.uk/i/pix/2017/09/07/23/44035BE400000578-4863556-image-a-133_1504822399989.jpg


	9. Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after the premier and some surprises :-)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I seriously should start writing shorter chapters!

 

Jaime glared at the pale sliver of light slipping through a tiny part between the drapes. Seconds had passed since he woke up with a hangover delivered by the Stranger himself. It was just a small matter of staggering to his feet and drawing them closed even more but he didn’t trust his legs.

At the thought of legs, his eyes sleepily wandered to the long limbs splayed next to him. Brienne’s skin was so pale where the sun hardly touched her that it was almost translucent. He admired the firm, toned calves, the bunched muscles at the back of her thighs and the sweet, almost-thrust of her ass peeking enticingly from under the blanket. She slept on her stomach. Though her hair was short it was piled around her face.

Despite feeling his head about to split in two, he quirked a smile. Brienne held his stump in her hand, her red, chapped lips brushing against it with every breath.

High from the applause and congratulations coming from every corner of the cinema, they went to the after-party in very high spirits. The absence of the media there, except for a few, carefully chosen ones, loosened them up. Alayaya was a very exclusive, members-only club but welcomed events such as the one for _Kingslayer._ Paparazzi was right outside the door, as well as fans. Jaime and the other actors gamely posed for photos and signed autographs while Brienne, much to her relief, was ushered quickly into the club by handlers.

Once inside, it was madness. There was champagne _everywhere._ Catering was by Manderley, awarded the Best Restaurant in Westeros seven years running. Samwell Tarly, who was with his long-time girlfriend, Gilly, sampled the sweet potato puffs and savory salmon rolls. Jaime found them by one of the cocktail tables. He introduced Sam to Jon Snow, one of his few friends in the business.

Brienne, after three glasses of champagne, let Tyrion drag her to the dance floor where they engaged in a dance-off. Jaime was laughing and applauding with everyone else. Yes, they made a funny pair but each was a good dancer. It was nice to see Tyrion relaxing too. Brienne was a riot, blushing as she awkwardly tried to imitate Tyrion’s smoother, more seductive dance moves.

Jaime and Brienne eventually danced together. While everyone was gyrating and shrieking, they danced to their own, slow beat. His lips alternately roamed between her shoulder and the tip of her ear, drawing little shivers from her. They snuck out of the back exit, Jaime grabbing a bottle of champagne on the way.

Once home, they got drunk and fucked all over the bedroom. They were in ecstasy from the triumph of their first film. Despite the alcohol, Jaime had never been so hard. Brienne was amusingly uninhibited and bold, blushing still as she initiated for most of the night and when she demanded to be fucked in ways he had never even heard of.

It was the best night of his life.

His headache was beginning to ease just watching Brienne sleep. He shifted to a more comfortable position, careful to not jostle his wench. He brushed the hair feathered across her eyes and nose until revealing her face.

The quiet spell of the morning was broken by the insistent ringing of his cellphone. Jaime cursed under his breath while Brienne wrinkled her nose. As he pawed the nightstand for the offending instrument, she snuggled against his chest like a giant, white cat. As she moved, Jaime saw a ginger, four-colored thing slipping out from under the blankets to curl up on the pillow she had just vacated. He chuckled. It was her cat, Lexi.

Lexi looked at Jaime with her sleepy green eyes as he answered the call. “Hello,” he said, keeping his voice soft. Brienne threw her arm around his waist then curled up her leg across his thighs. Her knee nudged at his erection. He took a deep breath.

“Good, you’re awake,” said Tyrion. “Have you seen the paper? Been online?”

“No. I just woke up.” Jaime glanced at Brienne, who was still sleeping soundly. “Hold on.”

Gently, he extricated his stump from her hold and made sure she wasn’t moved as much as needed to be. He got up from the bed, nude, and went to his laptop at the desk. Meanwhile, Brienne moved to his side of the bed, sinking into the warmth left by his body. Lexi crawled after her mistress, climbing to her hip. Jaime grinned and hit a button on the laptop.

“What should I find?” Jaime asked Tyrion, cradling the phone between jaw and shoulder as as he typed his name on the search engine.

“You’ll see.”

He put the phone down as the results crept up. “Kingslayer Kisses His Lady!” “Not A Roar, But A Kiss!” “The Lion Prince,” were just some of the top searches. With dread, he clicked on one.

There were photos of himself with Brienne holding hands, a huge smile on his face and hers close-lipped but her cheeks pink. He skimmed past them before pausing on one.

It was taken in the cinema. He was kissing Brienne’s hand and she was looking at him adoringly. Underneath was the claim that they “cuddled up and kissed once the lights were out.” Nothing could be farther from the truth but there was nothing to say. The photo made it very likely.

“Jorah and I have been fielding calls and emails. We’re saying no comment unless you wish otherwise. Where’s Brienne?” Tyrion asked.

“Sleeping. I’ll tell her.” Jaime wished for his other hand to rub his forehead. His headache was returning with a vengeance. “Fuck.”

“Hey, don’t be like that. The critics love the movie and they’re all unanimous in saying you’re worth the wait and this is your best work so far. Focus on that and your lady. You let us take care of these shits.”

“Thanks, baby brother.”

“Give Brie my love. Tell her I’m a better dancer.”

“I’ll give the love but I won’t lie.” Jaime retorted.

He ended the call and went back to bed. Brienne was awake, hugging Lexi to her chest now. Jaime slipped back under the sheets and looked at her.

“What happened?” She asked.

Jaime told her. He watched a crease form between her pale eyebrows, her big teeth worrying her swollen bottom lip.

They were discreet because they wanted the luxury their profession and fame strangely denied them: privacy. Jaime had long accepted that in this business nothing remained private for long. Brienne was an obscure personality despite her success in the indie circuit. Now that she was mainstream and in a relationship with a popular actor, she was suddenly in the limelight. He wished he could tell her it got easier.

She lay on her back, drawing the blanket to her tits. Lexi meowed and stepped over Jaime before leaping off the bed.

“Are you okay?’ He asked as her eyes darted to the ceiling, the window with the closed drapes, then back.

Brienne hesitated then nodded slowly. “Maybe.”

“Give it time,” he advised after a moment.

“It’s just that. . .”

“What?”

“I never expected to be in this position.”

“Oh?” Jaime, in an effort to cheer her up, was pretending to misunderstand. He climbed over her strong, warm body, a playful light in his eyes as she looked at him. She blushed as he pushed the blanket away. “What position is that, exactly, wench? Being under me?”

He feathered kisses all over her tits, taking a whiff of the subtle note of sweat and cotton. As he circled a soft, plump nipple with the tip of his tongue, she spoke in a voice that sounded far away.

“Being with you.”

He raked his teeth across the tight bud of her nipple, smirking as he heard her hiss and felt her tense. “Is it a good surprise? Bad surprise?”

Looking up at her, he saw her watching him. She was blinking rapidly and her cheeks flushed deeper by the second. Her fingers fluttered through his hair. “G-Good surprise.”

“I think so too,” he whispered, getting her to smile at last. He returned his attention to her breasts, catching a nipple in his mouth. Her legs were listless as they opened, driving his cock to settle right on top of the stiff nub between her legs.

“ _Jaime._ Oh.”

Still kissing her tits, she gasped, “I just---can’t---can’t people just let me do my job and not—not focus on my private life?” She tugged at his hair to get him to look at her. “Is that even fucking possible?”

Some of the mirth fled his eyes. Seeing this, she touched him on the cheek consolingly. “It’s alright, Jaime. You never have to lie to me. Just always give me the truth. I trust you.”

“I wish the same, wench. Acting is a fucking job. I don’t know why the personal has to be part of it but. . .” he shrugged. “It’s the job we have.”

“I know.” She surprised him with a kiss and her legs climbing from the sides wrap around his waist. “I love you, Jaime.”

Despite his headache, the glazed look in Brienne’s eyes and the alcohol still running thick in their systems, they fucked quickly, and to a satisfying finish. Her back curved to a deep, sharp bow as she came, thrusting her tits to Jaime’s seeking mouth. He tongued the hard, little pink pillars, his hips trembling between her spread legs as he poured into her. She lurched a final time against him before softening in his arms.

They continued to lay entwined, looking right in each other’s eyes. Brienne cradled his stump between her breasts. He watched the gentle dance of light in her eyes as he caressed her cheek, pushed her hair away from her face.

“I didn’t ask,” she said. “How do you feel about. . .the photo?”

“I love being with you. I love that people know. I don’t like how people came to know.” Jaime had become quite a fanatic with his privacy after the accident. The scrutiny and curiosity was an annoying part of the job. It was the judgment that would drive even the sanest mind mad. There were equal parts of sympathy, well wishes and comments like, “He had it coming,” during that time.

“We’ll try to control the publicity as much as we can but things like this will slip past, unfortunately.”

“I know. But are you okay? With people knowing. . .you’re with me?”

Jaime was about to make an amusing remark when he saw the uncertainty in her eyes. They both knew what she looked like. It was one of the reasons she was Brienne Tarth and he loved it about her. People were cruel, however. There was no way to protect her at all times. His expression sobered.

“Why wouldn’t I be? I love you.” He kissed her on the forehead. “All of you, Brienne. Never forget that.” He looked in her eyes and repeated firmly, “ _All_ of you.”

She kissed his stump, her meaning clear. Then she opened her arms and he happily settled against her chest.

“What do you want to do today?” He asked. He smiled up at her. “The reviews are coming in, wench. Tyrion says they’re all positive.”

She shook her head. “You’re pulling my leg.”

“You don’t believe me?” He leaned up on an elbow, smirking. “Alright. Let’s make a bet. You make me waffles when we find out how right I am.”

“You’re fucking sure,” she retorted but playing with his hair.

Jaime rolled his eyes before suddenly slipping from the bed. As Brienne cried out in protest, he went back to his desk to retrieve his phone. Confidently, he leaped right back, grinning at her smugly. Brienne huffed but snuggled against him, draping his right arm across her shoulders and throwing her leg around his knees. She rubbed his chest and he snorted, “Stop distracting me, wench.”

“Not my fault,” she told him.

“You do it,” he said, handing her his phone.

Brienne sat up. Jaime smiled as she let the blankets pool at her waist, enjoying her confidence with her body. In a few minutes she would scramble for them, blushing hotly and sputtering under her breath. He sat up, resting his chin on her warm shoulder as she typed _Kingslayer._ The results followed shortly.

He chuckled against her ear listening to her breathe shallowly while reading the results. One of the articles began with, “Kingslayer is bound to be a critical juggernaut, and the film does it with only one hand.” Another was, “If you think Jaime Lannister needs a hand, think again.” The articles were blown away by the story, the direction. A few reviewers praised Brienne’s indie film background to be able to tell a story “that leaves you gutted again and again.”

“I don’t believe this,” Brienne muttered.

“Told ya,” Jaime lay back in bed, stacking his hand under his head while his stump caressed her back. Brienne settled next to him, her eyes big.

“When will you start believing me, you stubborn wench?” he chided her gently.

“I do believe you. It’s the rest of the world that will have to convince me. But,” she added, kissing him, “it’s your opinion I value above all, Jaime. Thank you for making the movie with me.”

“I almost didn’t,” he reminded her. Yet memories of Eastwatch made him smile now.

“You were smart enough to let me get through here,” she said, gently tapping him on the forehead.

“Not really. More like you looked ready to take my last hand and slap me bloody with it.” He grinned as she reddened. She buried her face against his chest and he wrapped his arms around her.

“You _were_ pretty tough to take,” she admitted but kissing him on the collarbones. “Jaime?”

“Yeah?”

“I think—I think---” she flushed but looked very determined. “I think I loved you before Eastwatch. I don’t know when but. . .I know it wasn’t only the threat of a lawsuit and wanting you to be honorable that had me practically tearing apart Westeros looking for you. I know now that I loved you before it happened. I don’t know when but. . .” she looked away, clearly embarrassed. “Oh, I’m not making sense.”

“No, no, no, I understand.” Jaime urged her to look back at him. _Those eyes would be my undoing_ , he thought, loving her all the more. “I know exactly what you’re talking about.”

“Thank the gods.”

He pulled her down for a kiss, running his teeth across her swollen lips. Suddenly, Brienne pulled away.

“I was kissing here,” he complained.

“I’m hungry. And I have a debt of waffles to pay. Also, I can fucking murder a cheeseburger right now,” she said, winking at him playfully. Then she was off the bed, making him hard but also drawing a smile as her bottom bounced in the air before she covered herself in her robe. As she knotted it, she said with mock sternness, “Off your ass, Lannister. Come on! We’re going out!”

“I didn’t mean to collect the debt right away,” he said, doing what she told him, anyway. Realizing what she just said, he asked, “You’re serious?”

“I just thought of something,” she announced. She was practically giddy. “Let’s fill the dailies with photos of ourselves being the most boring couple ever. Like, you know, you and I dropping off laundry. Going to the vet for Lexi’s shots. At the fruit stand. The stuff everyone does. Who’s going to want to read that?”

He grinned. “They’ll hate us.”

“We’ll be fucking reviled!”

“Fucking right, wench.” Jaime considered it then said, “Yeah. You know, we can start right after breakfast.”

“What do you mean?” Brienne froze. “Jaime—uh, I was joking?”

“I’m not. This can be an opportunity for us. For example, we’ve been living together for a while now but this place is still pretty much mine with some of your stuff thrown in. When are we going to make the time to incorporate our tastes?”

“You _are_ serious.”

He grinned ang spread his arms wide. “Like these walls, wench. Maybe we could re-paint. Let’s talk about colors we like. Let’s start looking at paint samples!”

Brienne kissed him. “Fine, then. After a greasy breakfast—on my end—we’re off to the supply store to barrage some helpless clerk about the shades of—how many shades of brown are there?”

“Brown for this room, really?”

“I was thinking chocolate. What do you have in mind?”

“Blue. Like your eyes, wench.”

Another grin, another kiss before she went to the bathroom.

She left the door open, giving him a nice view of her robe falling to the floor, tits jiggling gently as she stepped into the shower. The opaque glass door obscured her figure into a faint shadow. A moment later, he heard her turn on the tap.

“Are you coming?” Brienne called out.

“In a minute,” he called out, going to their shared walk-in closet.

He gave the bathroom another glance before opening a drawer. A smile on his face, he pulled out a little box and popped it open. The sapphire on top of the ring winked back at him.

 

Four months later

It seemed every paparazzi was at the red carpet for this year’s Izembaro Awards, most prestigious award-giving body in Weirwood.

Kingslayer had ten nominations, including Best Original Screenplay, Best Supporting Actor, Best Actor, Best Director and Best Picture. While the interest in Jaime and Brienne waned after their plan to flood the newspapers with photos of them doing the most ordinary, normal things, the spotlight returned following the announcement of the Izembaro nominees.

Sansa and Jeyne teamed up once again for Brienne’s Izembaro look. With a blower, Sansa straightened Brienne’s hair, thickening and giving some volume on top with mousse. A hairspray ensured not a single strand would be out of place for the entire night. Her make-up was dramatic yet fresh, emphasizing her eyes and soft on her lips. Brienne scowled at the deep, V-neck plunging neckline of the dress but this one had long, slim sleeves and a full, A-line skirt. It was blue, with curving embroidery in dark blue sequins adorning the neckline.

"You made popular the no-bra look, so tonight, you’re going to school them again,” Sansa said as she helped Jeyne right Brienne’s skirt.

Celebrities were ditching bras and the preferred aesthetic at the moment was women with athletic figures and small tits. The fashion world credited Brienne for “bringing the nipple into the mainstream.” It was embarrassing and made her want to crawl under a rock and live there for the next ten years. Jaime thought her tits should be enshrined or something.

“I’d rather be known for the films I make,” Brienne grumbled.

Her irritation with the dress vanished when Jaime entered the room, looking as handsome as sin in a navy blue tuxedo jacket and slim, black pants. He was clearly pleased with her appearance so that made her happy. She might not be fan but Jaime was and it was a big deal. It gave her major confidence boost.

“You look good,” she told him sincerely.

“Thanks, wench. You look fantastic.” He offered his arm. “Shall we?”

Brienne held on to Jaime arms as they shuffled down the red carpet. With their relationship a favorite watercooler conversation and both up for major awards this night, the curiosity about them was fever-pitch. Tyrion and Jorah, leading their team of handlers, went ahead of them in red carpet or surrounded them discreetly. The couple held hands, ignoring shouts from the paparazzi for individual photos.

Eagle-eyed fashion watchers noted a ring on Brienne’s hand, but were disappointed it was on the right. Plus, it wasn’t a diamond. It was a sapphire, like her stud earrings.

Jaime and Brienne did interviews, with each looking at the other admiringly. When a reporter asked Brienne about who she was wearing, she looked at woman in the eye and said, “If I answer that question can I talk about women in film? Because I believe that’s worth knowing about, right?”

Another reporter made a lame attempt at a hand joke with Jaime. When he asked about Jaime probably needing a hand because Brienne was “so tall and more than a handful,” the response he got was an icy flare from both. Jaime then said, “If I had another hand, I know how I'll be using it. You won't like how.”

At least there were better questions down the red carpet they went. They smiled when asked about working together. Jaime urged Brienne to answer first.

“It’s rare to find an actor who will do anything demanded of him and more in a role. Jaime did not just inhabit the character. He was the character. I also have to say that for someone of his talent and reputation, he knows that while his character is the lead in the movie, it’s also just a part of the bigger story. That awareness,  I think, also comes across in his performance.”

Jaime squeezed her around the waist before speaking. “When you sign on for a movie, there’s  the acceptance that it won’t just be you telling the story. It’s in more capable hands, I think, the writer and the director. You’re just someone to do as they ask—or demand—” he joked, making Brienne laugh and blush. The reporter also laughed, but it sounded forced. “It’s not an easy thing, honestly, but when your director is someone you trust, it’s the sweetest ride.”

In the Red Keep Auditorium, they mingled some more, this time with fellow actors, writers and directors. Brienne was glad to see Davos there, and they shared friendly kiss on the lips. Jaime was glad to see Catelyn. Both expressed a desire to work together next time and called Brienne forward to make it happen. Gendry Waters, who was going to be presenter, shook hands with Jaime.

The Izembaro Awards program was long. But the wait was worth it because Kingslayer would eventually collect all its major awards. Brienne and Jaime clapped the loudest as Sam went up the stage. He was rounder than before but his tailored suit fit him nicely. He was profuse in thanking Brienne for fighting to get the movie made, and Jaime for accepting the role, knowing full well the challenges.

More awards were given. There were five in the running for Best Actor—Jaime, Petyr Baelish for _Moon Door_ , Jojen Reed in _Greensight,_ Gendry Waters for _Storm-born,_ and Rickard Karstark for _Innocent Slays._ The roster was a combination of first-time nominess (Jojen) and veterans (Jaime and Rickard, both nominated three times already).

As the presenter read off the names and clips were played, Brienne turned to Jaime. She whispered, “I’m so proud of you.”

“And the Izembaro goes to. . . Jaime Lannister for _Kingslayer_!”

Applause and cheers broke out in the auditorium. Brienne shrieked, her expression perfectly caught on camera before Jaime’s blond head got in the way as he kissed her. She gently cupped his face, kissing him back happily. They were still kissing as Jaime stood up and reluctantly made his way down the aisle. Brienne clapped furiously.

The entire auditorium was standing and cheering for Jaime as he approached the stage. As the statuette was handed to him, he gave the audience a glimpse of his ear-splitting green. His green eyes were suspiciously watery.

“I—I never expected this kind of welcome, honestly,” he began, pausing as more cheers greeted his words. He grinned and continued, “I never thought I’d be here, let alone act again.”

It was a reminder of what had happened to him. As the audience sobered and began to settle down, Brienne remained standing. Her heart was racing with pride and joy for Jaime. She couldn’t think of anyone who deserved this more. She pressed her hand with the sapphire ring to her heart.

“A lot of people have to be thanked. I want to give a shout-out to Samwell Tarly for writing the best script I’ve ever read. Sam, you have a real talent and I hope for more stories from you. To my brother, Tyrion, for always being there—” his voice shook and he paused, overwhelmed by emotions. Brienne watched the giant screen catch Jaime taking a deep breath. “You’ve always been a rock and I know I haven’t made it easy for you lots of times but I love you. I’m glad we’re brothers. When I first read the script, I was really hoping to play the character. Thing is, no matter how much you love a role, most of the time it’s never given to you. I’m here at this very moment because someone—” he cleared his throat and easily found Brienne through the crowd.

Her heart stilled.

“I’m only here,” he repeated, “because someone refused to give up on me. Someone fought for me, fought me, even, to get me to do this role. I’m here because of this person, who is the best partner I’ve had. I learned so much about faith from this person, so, thank you.” He held up his award and announced, “The things you do for love!”

Cheers went up again. As Brienne laughed and clapped, the camera showed her blushing face. She quickly turned to go back to her seat.

After the Best Actress winner was announced, Jaime returned to Brienne’s side, holding his Izembaro. She drew him close for a kiss.

“You were great up there,” she said sincerely.

“Only because of you, wench,” Jaime whispered as the tearful actress started rattling off a long list of people to thank.

“Come on, you did the work too.”

“You made me.”

“Hmm.” She joked. “I like that story.”

He put his arm around her and kissed her on the cheek. “So do I, wench.”

After the actress was ushered off the stage, another presenter came on. It was time for the Best Director Award.

Brienne stopped breathing as the names were read aloud.

This was her whole life. Since the day she borrowed her father’s video camera and started recording the movement of flowers in the wind, tracking the movements of a lonely paper bag, she had been dreaming of the day when she got to make movies for real. In an actual director’s chair, calling, “Action!” and directing actors on how the scene should play out. All her life was towards this moment.

She glanced at Jaime, her heart pounding.

Yes, everything had led to this moment but she never banked on getting more. So much more.

In her pursuing her dream to become a director, life happened along the way. Pain. Heartbreak. So many pieces have been broken and littered the ground, and she could have spent the rest of her life just picking them up and dwelling on the past. Instead, she picked up what she could, focused on her goal, achieved it, then went back to recovering those pieces. It was her life. She didn’t expect more besides respect from her peers.

So, she closed her heart.

When she read Sam’s script, she knew this was the movie she was meant to direct. Everything that happened in the past was to shape her to be the person at the helm of this story. It awakened such passion in her, terrifying and exhilarating her for the first time. The time to simply dipping her toes in the pool was done. Now, she had to throw herself in the crashing waves and swim for her life.

She held Jaime’s stump in her hands, gently caressing the scars and raised flesh. She used to only watch his movies but have always admired him. Working with him opened her eyes to the real Jaime Lannister. He was infuriating, impossible, arrogant and fucking entitled. Somehow, she got enough grit to destroy the façade and see the real deal. A broken man, at first. That couldn’t be denied. Yet he was also the strongest, bravest man Brienne knew. She couldn’t pinpoint when she learned that but she believed that was when she fell in love.

“And the Izembaro goes to. . .Brienne Tarth for Kingslayer!”

This time, the auditorium was mad. Brienne was stunned.

“Seven Hells, Brienne, that makes you the first woman in Weirwood history to win the Izembaro for Best Director!” Jaime roared. “You’re the first, holy shit!”

Sure enough, there was a voice-over announcing that the nomination and the win was not only Brienne’s first but a historic first in Weirwood. Brienne kissed Jaime’s stump before kissing him on the lips. They hugged tightly before she reluctantly extricated herself.

Her ears were ringing from the applause coming from all corners of the auditorium. Brienne stared at the audience in awe as she clutched the statuette. She was blushing and shaking.

“Um—I would like to thank my father, the Seven bless his soul, for letting me tinker with his camera when I was ten years old. You won’t usually trust kids with expensive technology like that but he did. It’s the reason how I came to film making. Because my father supported and trusted me enough to not damage his camera.”

A gentle ripple of laughter and encouraging smiles came from the audience. Brienne continued, her voice still trembling.

“Growing up, there was nothing I wanted more than to be behind the camera and watch a story unfold. I was. . .content. This was life. Turns out, there’s more. See, there comes a time when you have to write your own story instead of witnessing other people’s. It’s not easy but you are responsible for filling in the rest of the pages for the book of your life. You have to be brave enough to realize that to make your story happen, you’ll be front and center, see the world with your eyes rather than through the lens. The beginning will be difficult, as all early chapters are. But you reach that turning point where you decide the kind of person you will be. You will find the person you’re meant to be. I promise. And when you see yourself in the way you should have from the beginning, there’s also someone who sees you for who you are.” She sought Jaime in the audience, her voice clearer now. “And he loves you for it.” She took a deep breath and said, “I love you, Jaime.”

Jaime’s shocked expression, before smiling hugely, is captured on camera and would be played numerous times through the weeks following the Izembaros.

 

 

Kingslayer was the big winner, winning all the major awards, including Best Picture. Jaime and Brienne, Izembaros on hand, tour the after-party circuit but not for long. Paparazzi and some media people continued to camp in front of the party venues. They were able to snag interviews from the celebrities but Jaime and Brienne avoided them. They stayed no longer than ten minutes in the parties.

They really couldn’t stay long, anyway. Plans had been made months in advance and neither wanted to move them even for just a day. They had waited long enough.

In the limousine, Brienne snuggled against Jaime. Their kisses were sweet but passionate, filled with whispers of love and as well as banter. Brienne couldn’t believe this night. They each had success and love. Two people burned the worse were no longer afraid of the light.

The driver pulled up in the airport. No paparazzi was there, what with all of them stalking the after-parties. Jaime and Brienne did attract curious stares with their fancy threads. He was still wearing his tux and she, her dress. She gently touched the delicate fabric, loving that it was Jaime who suggested the color to match her eyes.

They were led to their private plan, hired just for this event. The pilot and the flight attendant welcomed them warmly, along with congratulations. Other passengers were in the flight too—Tyrion, Sansa, Podrick, Catelyn, Davos and Jorah. Warm hugs were exchanged before they settled in their seats. Brienne happily kicked off her shoes. Jaime kicked off his shoes too and shrugged off his jacket, undid his bow tie.

“So,” Tyrion said, grinning at them. “We’re really off to Eastwatch.”

Brienne blushed while Jaime said, “It’s become our favorite place in the world.”

“It’s so isolated,” Jorah said. “Are you sure about being there for that long?”

“Oh, come on!” Brienne exclaimed. “Jorah, we’ve been working non-stop since _Kingslayer._ Jaime and I could use a break.”

“That’s right. And two weeks isn’t enough,” Jaime said as she reached up to play with the collar of his shirt.

“You’re the strangest people I know,”Davos declared. “What is wrong about going to Dorne? Why freeze your asses off in fucking Eastwatch?”

“Who said we’ll be freezing? Mrs. Lannister will keep me warm,” Jaime said, turning to kiss Brienne’s hand as it climbed to his cheek. She smiled, thrilled at the new name she will have.

A princess-cut sapphire winked from the ring finger of her left hand.

“You’re sure about the name change, Jaime?” Tyrion asked.

“I think it’s an awesome idea,” Sansa said.

“Brienne isn’t the only one getting married here. She’s changing her name, and so will I.” Jaime grinned. “Jaime Lannister Tarth does have a nice ring to it, wouldn’t you say?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's right, folks. Our unicorns are off to Eastwatch to get hitched!
> 
> Anyone who's game for having the husbands change their names too, raise your hand.
> 
> THANK YOU FOR READING! 
> 
> Brienne's gown looks something like this:  
> https://i.pinimg.com/736x/fc/48/d0/fc48d0df06d1eecab90f0ade287bc0eb--designer-gowns-designer-wear.jpg


	10. Epilogue

As the credits of the rough cut of a film began to roll, Brienne turned to her film editor, Meera Reed.

“Right. So, the scene where she wishes for the death of her son’s murderer . . .” Brienne began thoughtfully, glancing at her notes and turning her clear blue eyes at the woman. “Let’s make that shorter. The impact of the moment gets lost the longer it goes. You know what I mean?”

“Oh, definitely,” Meera agreed, writing it down in her notebook. “It felt like a lecture at some point. You’re right. Shorter is stronger. What’s your take on when she goes mad mid-murder?”

“I liked that. The violence is called for but you know how it will be once the studio sees it. I’d much rather we retain it, so let’s leave that alone. Maybe this time around they won’t be too squeamish.”

Their discussion went on for another hour, and the film rewound for a few times to discuss the particulars of a scene and the tweaking that could still be done. There were several exchanges of strong opinions but this was not unusual. Meera had been Brienne’s film editor for seven years. They got on very well, despite being very stubborn people.

Brienne left Meera and went to her office down the hall. It was close to five already but there was still a ton of work left to do—emails to read and answer, calls to make and take, a meeting with Jorah about her upcoming shooting schedule.

Since being the first woman to win an Izembaro for film directing, Brienne had been working non-stop. Scripts fell on her lap, producers, actors, even writers, were calling and emailing her day and night to bring their movies to life.

It was big news how she and Jaime disappeared soon after the Izembaro Awards ten years ago. Jorah and Tyrion tried desperately to get them to move the wedding date, anticipating already the projects coming their way simply for being nominated for the award. Being in the limelight could only last so long and their wedding, followed right away by a two-week honeymoon, was deemed a reckless move by the agents. But Jaime and Brienne didn’t care. As satisfying as their jobs were, they were just that—jobs. Their priority was each other.

The two weeks in Eastwatch cut off from the rest of the world were the happiest in Brienne’s life at that point. They were still dressed in their fancy award night duds when they were wedded by a septon in front of a heart tree. Though not northerners, they included a heart tree ceremony on top of the traditional declaration of vows and exchanges of cloaks and rings. They saw really saw each other for the first time in the far north, and thus began to fall in love. It was only fitting they be wedded here as well as spend their first couple of weeks as husband and wife.

Being away from everything else never been so magical. They fucked first thing in the morning and throughout the day, falling asleep in each other’s arm, momentarily satiated before being roused by hunger either for food or each other. They cooked, did the dishes, cleaned, cuddled under the blankets sharing a bottle of red wine just talking. Dreams were shared, questions raised, both upfront with apprehensions they would never tell anyone else. Brienne did not know of faith until Jaime. He kept his word. He held her hand. He was there and it made life a whole lot easier, just knowing he was there.

They timed their wedding and honeymoon in order to see the first snows of winter. Three days before their departure, they finally came. They bundled up with the warmest jackets and scarves, Brienne slipping protective wool down Jaime’s stump. Then like little children, they raced out of the house squealing and elbowing at each other. They carved snow angels with their arms and legs, laughed uproariously to the sky. Fucked. Their joining was filled with laughter and jokes, Brienne marveling how the cold did not shrivel his cock, Jaime groaning at how warm and wet her cunt was. She gave birth exactly nine months after their snow interlude.

Now that was an unexpected development. Children were always in the plan although they did take precautions to have them a little later rather than a lot sooner. But as Jaime joked, their daughter was just as unstoppable as her mother. Though Elayna Lannister was a surprise, she was welcomed with open arms and kisses by her parents. Brienne was an emotional wreck in the happiest way as she gazed down at her baby, the exhaustion that claimed her disappearing as soon as she held the most beautiful, precious thing she had laid eyes on. The love for her daughter came like a rushing tide

Brienne was loathed to be away from Elayna for long periods of time, which was what filming overseas would do. Jaime also instructed Tyrion to turn away all projects that required shooting away from Westeros. Tyrion tried to talk him out of it, to at least look at the scripts because the roles were really good. But Jaime wanted to be with his family as well. Despite being able to afford all kinds of help to take care of their daughter, they agreed that it would just be on-hand to assist. They handled the bulk of responsibilities.

Though the projects they accepted were severly limited, they still looked for ways to do what they loved but without compromising a lot of family time. Jaime surprised Brienn with blueprints for a small building to be built on their property just outside of Weirwood, where they lived full-time. Through her tears, he happily showed her the layout for the offices meant for editing and other post-production work. Both could take for as long as a year and facilities were mainly in the city so he thought to bring the work to her.

Aside from TV guestings, cameos and the occasional small but expansive role in film, Jaime gradually moved from in front of the camera to behind it. Directing was Brienne’s domain. Writing and producing were more up his alley so he thought to give it a try. He put up a production company, LannisTarth. This gave him the means to produce his own scripts as well as by others. There were so many stories waiting to be told but only a fraction was willing to give them the avenue to be heard. LannisTarth hoped to give film makers and writers more opportunities.

Five years after Elayna was born, Brienne signed on to direct major films. She was still reluctant to be away for weeks from her husband and daughter but the urge to create refused to abate. But the scripts being sent to her were either generic or simply uninteresting, until _Oathbreaker._

The story of a soldier who had seemingly betrayed his country blew her away. But the scope terrified her, her mind already ticking at the possible problems such a production would face. The shoot was long, nine months, if things went as scheduled. She decided to pass but then Jaime saw the script lying around and called her an idiot for her decision.

The production was harrowing and just a fucking nightmare. Not because of the actors—Gendry Waters was eager for something to sink his teeth into and meant it when he told Brienne he will do whatever she wanted. It was the things they had little control over—for example a pyrotechnic shoot that took three days to prepare and exactly twenty seconds to be labelled a disaster because it blew up a portion of a forest it shouldn’t have. There was a lawsuit, production was stalled. When word got around that the studio was thinking of abandoning the movie, Gendry and the other actors of the film, stormed its offices put the fear of the Seven in the big bosses. Not only was additional budget given but the shoot was extended too.

While this was going on, Brienne discovered she was pregnant. Jorah made sure that photos of her heavily pregnant and bellowing on the megaphone circulated widely. A lot of the photos were not pretty—she was sweating, uglier, and being pregnant with twins, looked like an aurochs. There was ridicule but it was overpowered by praise from the media, academia and ordinary citizens. Suddenly, there were discussion about women film makers, as well as a newfound appreciation for mothers who struggle juggling work, children and marriages yet somehow being able to do it—or not, as it also went.

 _Oathbreaker_ would win Brienne another Izembaro for Best Director while Jaime would scoop up his first as producer when it won Best Picture. Brienne was just three weeks away from giving birth when she accepted the award. The press and the public hailed her as a feminist icon, and Lannister Tarths as everyone’s dream couple.

Now that their children were older, Jaime and Brienne had more freedom. But they took it as freedom to be more selective in the projects they worked on rather than the freedom to work on more. Yes, the children were older but they never stopped needing parents. Jaime grew up with nannies and it contributed to the distant relationship he had with Tywin. He didn’t want that repeated with his children.

So, Brienne would only make one film a year, or sometimes, one every two years. Jaime, retiring from acting, focused on producing and writing. Similar to the stealth move they employed for their wedding, they moved their family to Eastwatch, living there for close to a year before anyone from the press got hold of it.

Eastwatch was lovely but it really was most beautiful in winter. They lived in a huge ranch.The house was over a hundred years old but still sturdy, and tweaked with updated features as suitable for the Lannister Tarths. The old barn was renovated and expanded to accommodate their offices.

The ranch had vast fields of fruits and vegetables, which the children always delighted in picking, a stable for a few horses, beautiful waterfalls where they held picnics in the summer. They employed a small household staff, a cook, two housekeepers, three gardeners, and, much as they hated it, round-the-clock security. The Lannister Tarths were hardly noticed by locals now—no one did a double-take anymore when Jaime dropped off the children at school, but the women who panted after him were still around because he was more handsome than ever. When Jaime and Brienne went on dates in the local restaurants, they hardly attracted attention anymore—although it took some getting used to because it was hard to not notice them when together. They still held hands, laughed often and Brienne still blushed whenever Jaime kissed her.

During the Eastwatch Film Festival, actors, studio bigwigs, producers, writers, paparazzi and entertainment as well as national and international media congregated in this quiet, northern city. The fascination with Jaime and Brienne, as well as their children jumped to a thousand-fold, to their displeasure. Some paparazzi had been caught trying to sneak into the property, thus the need for security.

Films were Jaime and Brienne’s mutual passion. The success they’ve had encouraged them to give back by opening doors for films that might otherwise be ignored. They loved Eastwatch too and wanted to contribute in boosting the local economy. Through the cooperation of the local government and businesses, they helped establish a local film council. The responsibilities eventually included the Eastwatch Film Festival—an event for showcasing independent and other non-mainstream films. Jaime was the first chairman, holding it for three years before turning over the responsibilities to someone else. He and Brienne remained members of the board.

The Eastwatch Film Festival lasted for a month. Aside from film screenings, there were also workshops and conventions. The final event was the awards night. The winning film was sure to find a distributor afterwards. This was the reason the big studios came. The festival not only put Eastwatch on the map but, as hoped, helped with the economy. A film school was currently under construction and the community college was able to have the funds to start hosting visiting professorships in the arts.

Brienne worked for another couple of hours before heading for home. Home was a mile-long walk and she relished the opportunity to stretch her legs and enjoy the fresh air. It was the middle of spring, which meant warmer days although the evenings were still very cool and windy because this was farther north.

She had not gone far when she spied several figures in the distance. A smile touched her lips upon recognizing them.

“Mommy!” Four-year-old Evan was the first to scream, and echoed by his brother, Martin. Brienne laughed as she opened her arms to hug them. Elayna remained with Jaime, who had a basket slung over his right arm.

Brienne pressed loud, smacking kisses on her son’s foreheads, grinning widely at them as she pulled away. Her boys were Jaime mini-me’s, except for the blue of their eyes that was hers. She took by their little hands and met the rest of the family.

“Sweetheart,” Brienne murmured, giving her daughter a quick, tight hug and also a loud kiss on the forehead that made her giggle. At just nine years old, Elayna was already tall, all skinny arms and legs. Her hair was pale and worn in a loose ponytail. Freckles covered her from head to toe. Though she clearly took after Brienne, her eyes were vivid emeralds like Jaime’s, and her coarse features softened.

“Bronn made shrimp pasta tonight and ordered us to go pick lemons,” Jaime told Brienne as he slipped his right arm around her waist. He kissed her just before she relieved him of the basket, which contained four pieces of the fruit.

Bronn was their cook and possibly the most unusual employee they had—probably the only unusual employee they had. He had been in the army for ten years before an encounter with the vicious Sons of Harpy put several bullets in his chest. Shrapnel too close to his heart prevented them from being removed. Bronn was honored for his service and he collected his pension. The money he used to enroll in a cooking school. He was a chef in a hotel before the stress proved too much and he ventured into being a private chef. Jaime and Brienne were the first to employ him for this venture.

Despite his hardened face and sarcasm, Bronn was a softie toward the children. He called Jaime “Boss Pretty Boy,” and Brienne “Lady Lioness.” He emphasized the use of fresh ingredients and would look physically ill whenever the subject of junk food came about. So they were well-fed, the fridge and pantry often stuffed with healthy but very flavorful and filling options.

“Sounds yummy already,” Brienne declared, licking her lips. “Just as well, I’m starving!”

During the walk home, the children regaled them with stories about their day. Elayna was excited about the book she had borrowed from the library—it was a collection of ancient tales of Westeros. Evan bragged about helping Bronn making peach preserves. Martin shared that Lali, a cat they adopted from the pound, was the cutest, laziest furball. Thinking of Lali reminded Brienne of Lexi, who passed away three years ago. Jaime saw the light leave her gaze for a moment and gave her a comforting squeeze on the waist. She kissed him on the cheek.

As they neared the house, Elayna dared her brothers to a race, taking off on her long legs before she finished speaking. The twins howled in protest and took after her, their squeals and laughter filling the air. Jaime and Brienne stood watching them before they disappeared inside the house. Then she turned to her husband and caught him looking at her, his emerald eyes golden in the sun.

“We made the right decision, didn’t we?”  She said, reaching up to brush a lock of his hair away from his forehead.

Moving to Eastwatch was not a decision they made lightly. It would always be a special place for them but it was far—over a week by land and six hours by air. Though they were hardly away these days, there were still films they couldn’t pass up and it required absence from home for weeks at a time. It helped that there were always people to take care of the children, and they never worked on such projects at the same time. Still, once in a while, Brienne would wonder if they were right to take their children away from Weirwood. Everything they could possibly want or need was there but she doubted if, despite the conveniences, their children—and her marriage—would thrive and grow.

“They’re happy children—the happiest,” Jaime assured her. He squeezed her hand. “We’re still together.”

“Yeah.” Though she never doubted about Jaime being the only man she would love and marry, she wasn’t sure if the fast-paced life in Weirwood wouldn’t have caused a serious strain to their marriage.

Podrick would eventually sell his first script, and remain on the trajectory of Weirwood success. He married Sansa after a long engagement only to file for divorce two years later. There were allegations of cheating on both sides, but, when they told Brienne separately the truth later, it boiled down to never making the time for each other anymore. Podrick was hired to write the first _Goldenhand_ movie in the franchise and he was also producer. Sansa collaborated with a make-up company for her own line of cosmetics. Neither denied cheating but the separation brought about their work eventually sealed the fate of their marriage.

They walked to the house, holding hands, Jaime kissing her on cheek to draw a lovely blush from her cheeks.

After dinner, Brienne made the twins take a bath while Jaime oversaw Elayna’s homework. Once the kids were tucked in, they went downstairs, hopped on a pick-up and went for a drive. They didn’t go far, just enough for the house to recede into a dot until it was swallowed by darkness. A full moon hung over the lake.

Brienne took a blanket from the back and spread it on the soft, thick grass. Jaime put the basket with the wine and cheese within reach.

Being with family was the best part of the day but just having Jaime to herself was Brienne’s favorite. She loved watching him dote on their children, falling harder and deeper in love at how clearly he adored them. But she liked having him to herself too, such as on nights like this, with only moon and wine in their world.

Jaime sat down on the blanket, held out his hand and pulled her down beside him. She cupped his face in her hand, breathing faster at the nice tickle of his scruff on her palm before kissing him. He still tasted of lemons from their meal, fresh yet also warm. He tasted of sweet, sultry summer, the kind novels looked back upon with nostalgia and movies bathed in golden sepia.

Still kissing, he rolled her on her back. She kissed his old scars, the veins of his stump while his hand trailed up her denim-clad thigh before resting on the warmth between her legs. She closed her thighs around his hand, turning away from his stump to throw a groan up in the sky. His lips fell on her jaw, her neck, his deftly unzipping her pants. The soft whirr of the zipper joined the wet sounds of their kisses. She suddenly grabbed his face. He was warm, but she was warmer, the moonlight illuminating her flushed cheeks. Their quick breathing touched each other’s lips as they gazed at each other.

“Come on, wench,” he teased her playfully. Her insides were a mush at the secret nickname. “I’m dying here.”

“You seem to want to kill me first,” she whispered just before his teeth grazed her thick lower lip.

“Nah. I want to remind how great it is to be alive,” he said then resumed their kiss and the quest of his fingers down her cunt, inside her cunt. She wailed softly against his lips.

Their kisses sped with the quickening, roughening pace of his fingers fucking her. Her pants pooled at her ankles prevented her from spreading her legs as widely as she wished. But _gods,_ his calloused fingers thrusting inside her and the repeated flicks and rotations of his thumb on her clit were simply incredible. Jaime just had too much fun destroying her.

She moaned against his tongue as he guided her to the edge. Faster he fucked her, faster her hips moved, squeezing around his fingers. Between kisses, he growled filthy compliments about her thick bush, her wet cunt, at how she _sounded_ like she needed a good, hard fuck. She gripped him by the sleeves of his shirt, her mouth just open for rough pants to escape. He nibbled on her lips, dipped his tongue in her mouth as she felt herself fly.

She growled and grunted through her orgasm, gripping him by the head as she kissed him with carnal greed and hardly any finesse. He chuckled and gasped against her, his fingers showing her absolutely zero mercy even as her release began to wane. She blushed and kissed him harder listening to the wet clacking sounds from his fingers plunging in and out of her cunt. He dragged another orgasm from her.

_“Jaime!”_

Her body collapsed on the blanket, sweating and heavy. She blinked rapidly, trying to clear the haze from her eyes as Jaime lavished gentle kisses around her face, down her neck.

She was still too limp to do anything but be guided by Jaime. He raised her arms to pull off her sweater and tank, removed her shoes before taking off her jeans. She remained on her back, arms and legs a wanton spread. She blushed, imagining what she must look like. The grin on Jaime’s face told her he liked what he saw very much. When he got rid of all his clothes, she saw just how much he really liked it.

She swallowed and licked her lips as he approached her, her own golden god, beautiful even in the night. Her heart raced at the sight of his cock huge and erect, pointing at her. She admired the flex of his muscles as he leaned over her. “Jaime, I love you,” she whispered, her hand flattening on his chest and feeling that the elevated beating of his heart echoed her own. His emerald eyes gleamed at her words.

She marveled at how perfect he felt in her arms, the hard angles of his body settling on the planes of her own. She turned to kiss his stump while he trailed his lips down her neck, her collarbones. As he moved down her body, she reluctantly let go of his arm.

He tongued her nipples, touched them with his rough palm and rougher stump, making her draw breath faster. He smiled against her tits as he felt her chest constrict and expand at every lick. She stroked the contoured muscles of his back, cupped the firm curve of his ass to make him gasp. “Wench,” he told her, pinching a swollen nipple roughly. She whined and her honey slid down her cunt, wetting his thigh. He grinned, repeated the word and pinched her again. This time, his mouth swooped down to her lips, swallowing her cries.

She managed to tear her mouth to gasp, “Please, Jaime, _please,_ ” as he continued his burning grip on her nipple. Her hands slid down his slick back again, one of her legs hooked around his hip. Her eyes were blue coals as she groaned again, “Please, Jaime. Damn it. Fuck me.”

“My dirty-mouthed wench,” he drawled, kissing her. She kissed him back, rolling her hips. His cock was against her thigh, so hard and just wonderful. Her cunt was a dripping, swollen mess as she imagined him stretching her wide, stuffing his big cock inside her and fucking her hard.

“Fuck me now,” she begged.

“You want it? Now?”

“Gods, please.”

Jaime smirked then, with a smoothness that surprised her, turned her on her stomach. Brienne gasped, startled for a moment before realizing what was going to happen. She blew the hair that had fallen over her face as together, they positioned her on her hands and knees. Jaime tugged at her hair, arching her throat to kiss her roughly on the mouth before suddenly pulling away.

She spread her legs wide, then reached for her labia with her fingers to coax the wide open as he gripped his cock and began pumping into her. They gasped, throwing their heads back. Jaime’s cock was thick close to the base. Brienne was in Seven Heavens feeling her cunt stretched and widened, struggling to fit around his enormous cock.

Their fucking was furious, coupled with pitched cries and loud slaps of flesh. Her nails tore at the fibers of the blanket. She rocked fast against him, matching the hard, beautiful rhythm of his body easily. Jaime panted for her to slow down but she shook her head. She was as tight and tensed as a coiled spring and desperate for release.

“Wench,” he growled as her fingers sought her clit and rubbed relentlessly. But he didn’t stop her. Instead, he fucked her faster, the force of his thrusts sure to bruise her cunt and leave her sweetly sore for a couple of days. “Fuck. _Wench._ ”

“Jaime!” His name was torn out of her before she realized what was happening. Her eyes widened at the sudden, faster pace of her body. Her fingers resumed abusing her clit as Jaime pounded into her, ramming the hard column of his cock repeatedly in her soaked slit. Suddenly, he yanked her hair, slamming her back against his chest. She gasped right before his mouth claimed her in a bruising, possessive kiss, his stump anchoring her head firmly. She continued rubbing herself through her release until her gasp filled his mouth. He groaned, twisting her hair in his fist painfully as he filled her.

Brienne was the first to collapse on the blanket, gasping and blushing. The moonlight fell on the wet stains on her thighs. Jaime followed, falling on his back with a groan. They looked at each other and suddenly burst out laughing.

“Wench,” he murmured, raising his left arm to pull her to his chest. She smiled and draped his arm over her shoulder, putting her head on his chest. She purred happily as she playfully bit his nipple, making him jump and chuckle. She put her arm around his stomach and slipped her leg between his thighs.

“You just killed me,” he said, kissing her on the forehead.

“Oh, don’t be a baby.”

She listened to the laugh rumbling in his chest. It was a rich, beautiful sound. She sighed, content.

“Gods, on a night like this, how can you want anything else but the woman you love the most,” Jaime murmured. She turned so she too could see the sky. Eastwatch had the clearest sky. There seemed to be hardly any space between the twinkling stars.

“There’s no question about it, wench,” he continued, his lips moving against her hair. “This is home for us. You’re _my_ home.”

“You don’t miss being in front of the camera? Starring in a film?” She knew the answer but she knew how much he loved acting.

“I don’t think I can completely turn away from it,” he admitted. “Writing is giving me the kind of satisfaction—even pleasure—that may soon topple acting from the list. But it’s nothing like being with you, Brienne. You’re what I want. _All_ I want.” His stump gently bumped her cheek. “I thought life was over when I lost my hand. . .then _Kingslayer_ came along. You reminded me how good it felt to act but you also taught me there’s so much more outside of pretending to be someone else. You brought me back to life, Brienne, and also showed me a new beginning.”

She had to smile. “When did that happen exactly? From what I remember, we’ve been wanting to kill each other from day one.”

He laughed and held her close. She too tightened her hold on him.

“I don’t think I can answer that. Maybe the first time I saw you. I’ve never seen eyes like yours, wench, and I’ve never forgotten them. It could be when you hunted me down here and actually attacked me. Or perhaps,” his voice dropped to a seductive timber, “when you stripped and showed me the goods for the first time.”

She playfully flicked his nose. “You said you didn’t get hard because of me.”

“That was a fucking lie. With legs like yours, how can I not get hard?” He continued teasing her. “I swear wench, one glimpse of your pussy and I was a goner. It’s the most beautiful pussy I’ve ever seen. And your tits the sweetest I’ve tasted—”

“Stop it,” she pressed her fingertips on his lips. His eyes twinkled at her, loving the deep pink blooming from her cheeks. She freed his lips.

“---your mouth the filthiest I’ve kissed—”

She quieted him again with her fingers, shaking her head. Then she slowly removed one finger at a time.

“—hands down the sexiest mommy I’ve fucked—”

“Jaime, how many mommies are you fucking, exactly?” She said sternly.

Jaime removed her hand from his mouth, laughter in his eyes. “Uh—I’ve lost count?”

She pretended to hit him and he easily caught her by the wrist. He pulled her on top of him, urging her to straddle his hips.

“If I say you’re the most badass director with the wettest, most beautiful pussy, what does it get me?” He asked as her lips hovered above his. His arms went around her waist. “And let’s say, I add that I’m so fucking crazy in love with you, wench? Tell me.”

“Tell you?” She teased, smiling. “Won’t you rather I show you?”

As she spoke, she started kissing down his chest, his stomach. Jaime grunted, his stomach suddenly tensing as she licked his navel. Brienne grinned and continued to cover him in kisses the lower she went.

“Showing works too,” he gasped.

As her tongue circled his cock, he groaned, “What if I tell you that you taught me to be kind of man I could be, Brienne? What does it get me?”

That night, Jaime didn’t just see the stars. She took him there and beyond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, guys!
> 
> I'm so sorry for taking a while to update. RL seems to get busier these days. I hope the conclusion makes up for the long update. I'll answer your comments when I come back after a few days. But know what I've read them and I appreciate your making the time to say how much you enjoyed the previous chapters. 
> 
> Thank you for reading. You guys are the best!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> I'm writing a series of stories where Brienne is in certain jobs and Jaime is either a client or someone that she directly deals with. There's so much potential about this pair that can translate into the real world. I love them and I hope you enjoy the stories coming your way. This is my first fanfic where Jaime has his canon disability. So. . .fingers crossed! 
> 
> Right now, works in this series include The Right Touch and At All Fronts. I haven't collected them under a series yet because I still don't know what to call them. But they're coming!
> 
> Thank you for reading again. Looking forward to your comments and questions!


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